


Change you like a Remix, Raise you like a Phoenix

by candicame



Series: Hyrule Warriors AU [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Just to be safe, M/M, Multi, Other, Stockholm Syndrome, dubcon, hyrule wariors au, idk if this should be tagged noncon or not, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:37:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 105,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candicame/pseuds/candicame
Summary: Edit: I was told that my old summary was off-putting and didn't reflect the story, so I'm changing it.This story takes place in a Hyrule Warriors-esc AU, incorporating more Zelda characters from games neglected by the Hyrule Warriors canon.  It started off a little silly, but grew progressively darker as it went, especially after Link was captured by enemy forces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful beta, Saint went back all the way to chapter one! I reposted a much better version. This was originally just something stupid I wrote to help calm myself down, and now it fits in much better with the rest of the fic.
> 
> Also, obligatory tip jar: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

“Who's idea was it?” Ghirahim asked with a strained calm, his wicked eyes shining with anger, as he marched into the open campsite and slammed the tray he was carrying onto the makeshift table, “To try to feed _MY MASTER_ , the glorious reincarnation of the _god_ Demise, the omega, the immortal, end of all things, _wild boar_!?”

 

His voice was calm, but his rage was palpable. There were edges of darkness seeping up his arms, visible in the little cut-outs of his sleeves, and diamonds were forming in the air around him.  
  
“I tried to tell him!” Zant screamed in a panic, but Ghirahim took no notice because Zant was _always_ in a panic, “I told him over and over!”

“ _Give me a name_ ,” Ghirahim snarled, leaning over the table, “Who's providing you worthless little meat sacks with the sustenance that you need to continue your wretched survival.”

“Can you just not lose your shit at dawn over a couple slices of bacon?” Vaati smirked, “It's too early to listen to your demon lord bullshit. And your little Shadow Realm diamond things are all up in my face.” He tried to take one, but it vanished as he touched it, “What even _is_ that? What are you doing with your life?” He laughed and Ghirahim shot him a warning look.

“Mortal, I will strip you of your magic and crush you under my boot,” he snarled.

“Big bad sword threatening the Picori Blade.  Classic.” Vaati poked him in the side and Ghirahim turned on him, the darkness stretching further and the irises disappearing from his eyes.  
  
“Threaten me again mortal,” he hissed.

“I haven't threatened you once, you're just being dramatic,” Vaati took the slices of bacon off the tray Ghirahim had slammed down and put them on his own plate, “I don't even disagree with you. I think it's messed up to feed a pig bacon.”  
  
“My master,” Ghirahim hissed at him, “Is not a _pig_. He is a majestic, wild beast with tusks to gore any one of you _blithering_ , babbling-”  
  
“When you're not mad, you're fun to be around,” Vaati continued, cutting him off.

“I'm cooking,” A boy strode up to the table, glaring at Ghirahim with fiery red eyes that showed no fear, “And I think it's hilarious.”

The entire table turned to look at him in puzzlement, and the chatter fell silent. The boy's form was familiar, but his voice was not. He held up one hand and shoved Ghirahim, boldly pushing him away from the table, and a faint outline appeared on the back of it, “be glad I'm not doing it in my underwear or running around nude setting fire to your stupid tents!”

“Shadow,” Vaati perked up, “Where the hell have you been? I haven't seen you in, god... forever.”

“Yeah. Because I'm not _stupid_. I showed up on your little world merging quest because this crazy bitch summoned me. And it was creepy as fuck. You know that bitch has got a garden with statues of me? Like... a _lot_ of them? Like I think she carved them. She gives me the vibe of someone who goes around collecting hair and making weird closet shrines, and I'm not about that. I thought maybe G-man would know something, so I tracked him down. Let me guess, she tried to summon him, fucked something up, and he attacked her,” his voice deepened, mocking Ganondorf, “as the supreme dark lord, chosen child of Din, avatar of the GODS who will not tolerate FOOLISHNESS!”

Zant hid his face behind his thick sleeves and formed his fingers into the shape of a triangle, trying to ward off the blasphemy that this little Hylian wretch spouted. Shadow Link stuck his tongue out at him, and nearly bit it off when a hand dug into his hair and jerked his head back.

“Blasphemous little bug,” Ghirahim hissed in his ear, “You _dare_ mock the great King Gannondorf? I will see you pay for your treachery. I will personally pull the apology from your lying lips as you beg for death. I will _savor_ the dying gasps of your writhing body. Maybe I won't even allow you the mercy of death... maybe I'll keep you, begging for your pathetic life.” He licked a stripe down Shadow's face, and made a low humming noise in the back of his throat.

“Just fucking kill me,” the boy replied, “I can't stand the sound.”

  
Shadow put one hand on one of Ghirahim's, which was still digging into his scalp, and reached up to lace the other through the demon's hair. Then he leaned in and _licked back_. Ghirahim's rage seemed to find its peak, and he slammed him into the table, hissing like a cat, as his body stretched, muscles swollen, the darkness that had been creeping finally engulfing him whole.

“Bitch, please,” Shadow laughed, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, with an infuriating smile on his face, “You were created as a companion sword to that miserable Master Sword. You're sisters. If there is _anyone_ meant to wield such a weapon,” his eyes narrowed, and he reached for the glowing gem on Ghirahim's chest, and the demon's face contorted in terror as his form flickered. It wasn't the sword the demon Demise wielded, it was smaller, almost identical to the master sword, but unmistakably Ghirahim, dark with the bright red jewel. Shadow pressed farther, and took it by the hilt, and with the demon no longer standing over him, he stood to his full, unimpressive height and held the sword skyward.

“Dadada diiiing,” he sang, and Vaati rolled his eyes.

Zant was covering his face now, glancing between his fingers at whatever monstrosity was taking place before him. Gannondorf needed to be warned of this Hylian upstart. He couldn't understand why everyone else was playing it off as a joke.  
  
Ghirahim shot out of the gem, a projection of his former self, seething.

“Don't open your pretty little mouth,” Shadow warned, sliding the blade into his sheath, “You and I need to talk.”  
  
“I will tear you limb from limb!” Ghirahim shouted, and his rage must have been enough to summon the demon king himself.

Much like Vaati, he didn't seem alarmed at the newcomer's presence, instead he looked down at him, amused, and asked, “Where the hell have you been?” In the exact same playful tone.  
  
“Master!” Ghirahim's spirit floated to Gannondorf's side and hung off his arm, “This little wretch stole my physical form! _Punish him_.”

“Yeah, he does that,” Ganon waved his concerns away and tried to dismiss him, “Shadow, give it back.”

“You can't tell me what to do!” Shadow shouted in a high-pitched whine, “You're not my real dad!” he smirked, but Ganondorf was in no mood for his shenanigans, instead, he turned and addressed Vaati.

“Did you summon this thing from the shadow realm?”

“I did not. Cia did. I guess as a consolation prize.” Vaati replied with a shrug, eating another piece of bacon.  
  
Ghirahim was livid, “You little rat, you _will_ obey my master or face his wrath!”

Vaati mimicked his tone, “My boyfriend will beat you up!”  
  
Gannondorf turned on him, “Be quiet. It's far too early for your minish ministrations.”  
  
“You know what,” Vaati took the final piece of bacon and chewed it down, “I will, but just because I can't even remember what I was talking about. I got distracted by the super good burn.”  
  
“Master, what is that horrid thing?” Ghirahim asked, still floating behind Gannondorf.

“It's a long, complicated story,” Gannondorf explained, gesturing towards Shadow, “The master sword can only be wielded by the pure of heart. Therefore when one draws it, any impurities are leaked out of them. Creating... this thing.”  
  
“I AM MASTER OF MY DOMAIN,” Shadow screamed and picked up a torch. Vaati jumped up and tackled him to the ground.

“He's sort of a chaos spirit.” Gannondorf continued, ignoring the fighting, “But he's usually far more loyal. What happened to him?”  
  
“Cia!” Vaati replied from the ground, grinding the torch into the dirt.  
  
“Oh. Right. Yes,” Gannondorf sighed, “He may as well stay here, but he has to behave himself. Shadow, don't be mean to Ghirahim. Give him back his body.”  
  
“But it's rightfully miiiiiiiine,” Shadow whined from the ground.

“Debatable. Give it back, or I'll send you back to the fish girl. She's here too, you know. Is that what you want?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head fervently from side to side, and went limp. Vaati stood up and went back to sit to breakfast. Shadow drew the sword and handed it to Gannondorf, who stabbed it into the ground. Ghirahim flew back inside and in an instant, was restored, though he had returned to his original form.  
  
“Let me have him, master,” He hissed, “Let me show him the error of his ways!”

“No more talking from anyone,” Their King commanded, “I've had enough of this. Someone bring me my breakfast.”  
  
“It's bacon!” Shadow called helpfully.

“I prefer rabbit,” Gannondorf hissed, and the boy fell silent.

They all stood in silence for a few seconds before Vaati ventured to ask, “What fish girl?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our squad goes over their battle plan.
> 
> Also, Ghirahim can wield the Master Sword: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/q-UJ3eMtz1s/maxresdefault.jpg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly reposting all the old chapters because my editor took it upon themselves to fix them for me, because they're just that nice! So if you're a new reader I guess you'll just get a better experience. *sweatdrop*. I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, here's a Ko-fi tip jar if anyone wants to throw a coin in: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

“Alright,” Ganondorf's voice had stilled any bickering or conversation that could have been happening in the camp as he spread out the map and pinned it into place on the table, “Listen closely. Zant and I have been working all morning while you people have been resting, and I believe that you've had enough. We have an air tight strategy, but we'll need to coordinate perfectly together to pull it off. I will have no mistakes, and no insubordination.”

The group gathered around, silent, ears and eyes at full attention, even Shadow, who had not gotten any calmer as the morning went on. Ganondorf traced their eyes and made sure everyone was gathered before he continued.  
  
“We will leave as a single unit, on the off chance that we are ambushed, and collect supplies at the fairy fountain here,” He pointed at the map, “Anyone who is flesh and blood will fill at _least_ two bottles with the sniveling creatures. Vaati has prepared enough blue potions that the mages among us will be equipped with two bottles each as well. Thus supplied, our units will split. The queen is evil, but she is wise, and her mind reading is a tactic that we cannot overlook. We share a bond, and she haunts my dreams, trying to break into my head. She is our most powerful adversary. Therefore, I shall take her myself. I want no disruptions. Zant will follow me as second in command and hold back her forces.”  
  
Ghirahim opened his mouth to say something, and Ganondorf silenced him with a look.  
  
“Cia is not dead, despite having my power ripped from her. She's pulling from her magical reserves outside of space and time, believing herself to be the goddess of time. She must be dispatched before she is able to reform and gain her true power. Volga, I need you to take the spirit Wizzro and do away with her completely. Take out one body at a time, understand me? Do not split up. Take out the dark form before moving on. That will place you closer to me, in the unlikely event that the Hylian army proves too much for Zant to handle alone. Keep the creature in check.”  
  
Volga nodded with understanding, and Wizzro didn't even have the class to be offended. He cackled, and Ganondorf shot him a look that told him that if he even thought of betrayal, he would become just another magical object in his arsenal.  
  
“Leave as little or as much damage in your wake as you prefer,” Ganondorf continued, “We are not butchers, but these are not innocent civilians. But do remember that you, yourselves were taken in by the witches' spell, and it is likely that her forces will gladly join us after we have freed them. Yours is a rescue mission, not a slaughter.”

Volga nodded again.

“Do not get taken in by her spell again,” their king went on, “Keep wards up at all times. If you need additional supplies, contact Vaati by the gossip stones hung around your neck. He will be running our supply lines with his teleportation spells, serving all three units. Keep your magic supplies full- you need a full stock to pull from. It will likely be a lengthy battle. Vaati, how much blue potion have you brewed?”  
  
“I spent the night slaughtering every jelly on the field and all morning at my cauldron,” Vaati saluted, “I have enough to keep every mage in this team going for a good twelve hours if you don't exhaust yourselves.”  
  
“Good,” Ganondorf said, turning his attention back to the map, and Vaati gleamed at the praise.  
  
“Shadow, I'm glad you're here. You have what can be considered our second most important objective. Do not- Boy, Look at me.” He jerked his eyes away from the map to stare the boy down, “Do not try to pull anything over on me, because your partner will turn on you in a second. You are to capture Feore's hero, the strongest Link in Queen Zelda's chain of command. _Look_ at me. Tell me what I just said.”

“I'm supposed to capture Link,” Shadow repeated obediently, “I'm not a child.”

“Mm,” Ganondorf neither agreed nor disagreed with his assessment, “I want you to remember that you are to capture him. This isn't an assassination. Ghirahim, you are to accompany him, and disarm the boy during the battle.”

“How the hell is he supposed to disarm him?” Shadow asked in confusion, “He's wielding the Blade of Evil's Bane. No one without a pure heart can wield it. That's literally the reason I exist.”  
  
“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf turned to him, and Ghirahim, happy to be acknowledged, clung to his arm and snuggled into it, “Why are you fighting this war?”

“To avenge your death,” Ghirahim purred, “And to prove my worth to you in your new form. My master is my heart and soul. I will not let that _wretched_ Skychild or that insolent reincarnation of the liar Hylia make a fool of you again, master. I swear on my life.” The wrath in his words was so fierce that he sounded like a wild animal, “You have my undying loyalty, and I will avenge _every_ wrong that has ever befallen you, my Great King.”

“Ghirahim _does_ have a pure heart,” Ganondorf went on, though he didn't seem to return the weapon's affections, “He fights not for glory,” he nodded at Vaati, “Nor for honor,” he nodded at Volga, “Nor pure unbridaled chaos,” he nodded at Wizzro, “Nor, like the two of us, Shadow, does he seek revenge. Ghirahim fights only for love. He can not only touch the cursed blade, he can _wield_ it.”

“I will SHATTER FI INTO A THOUSAND TINY PIECES!” Ghirahim let go of his master to throw his hand in the air, “I will destroy the only weapon capable of harming my perfect master! I will destroy her so thoroughly that the greatest swordsmiths of any land will be incapable of restoring her! The bitch is _mine_.”

“Not today, you won't,” Ganondorf explained calmly, “You will bring the Blade of Evil's bane back with the rest of the spoils. I've tried having it shattered before. It didn't work. We'll have to figure something else out.”

Ghirahim sighed, and bowed.  
  
“Everyone will remain in constant communication,” Ganondorf continued, “Gossip stones are to be kept activated. Remember that the Sheikah can trace their frequency, but hopefully it won't be an issue, as Zant has been tasked with taking the Sheikah warrior out. Does everyone understand their job here today? Is everyone ready?”  
  
A cheer went up from his commanders, and Ganondorf smiled.

“Ready my steed,” he announced, and bellowed to the table, “TO VICTORY! TODAY WE END THIS VICIOUS CYCLE ONCE AND FOR ALL, AND FREE EVERY TRIBE IN HYRULE!”  
  
His cheer was answered, and his commanders left to take their positions. Before he could get very far, Ganondorf called out, “Shadow! Come back, boy, you're forgetting something.”

Shadow turned to see Ganondorf wielding a mighty blade, and Ghirahim floating alongside it. He held it out to him, hilt first, and when Shadow took it, it shrank until it perfectly mirrored a dark version of the master sword.  
  
“It's dangerous to go alone,” the King explained, “Take this.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghirahim and Shadow try to accomplish their objective

After the supply run at the fairy fountain, the group split. Volga, Wizzaro, and their forces headed to Sai's stronghold, while the rest of the troopes followed their leader into Hyrule Field, advancing on the walled castle. There were no glamours, no cloaking, their king wanted a /battlefield/. He wanted to draw them out. Zant was finally in his element, and the thrill of the battle rushed through him. The warhorse under him picked up her pace as he cackled into the midday sky and his master's voice rang out from the gossip stone.  
  
“I'm glad you're excited,” he hissed, “But remember your objective. Take out the Shekia Impa and keep the queen's forces off of me.”

 

“Of course, master,” came his quick reply.

 

“If we aren't allowed to kill him,” Ghirahim's voice rang through the stones, “What are we allowed to do with him?”  
  
“The boy is mine, Ghirahim,” Ganondorf hissed, and Ghirahim began to say, 'Of course master” but silenced himself after the first word when it became apparent that the Demon King wasn't finished, “Normal rules apply. Strip him of his weapons, armor, jewels, /anything/ that looks like it /might/ have a chance of being enchanted, and chain him. If you think his miserable genes are /worth/ preserving, you can use him, but do not damage him before I arrive.”

 

“Boss, you know that we're guys, right?” Shadow asked, not unkindly, “All of us. Are men. That's not how baby-making works. You're thinking of Gerudo-”

 

“DO NOT QUESTION THE ORDERS OF YOUR KING, UNGRATEFUL GNAT,” Ghirahim /screamed/ over him with so much force the stones vibrated.

 

“Do /not/,” Ganondorf hissed, “Do that again. Do not /screech/ in my ear. And boy, know that I am /no man/.”  
  
“He is a /god/,” Zant answered, with reverence, and Ghirahim smirked where he floated by Shadow's side.

 

Shadow glared up at him and tucked the stone back in his shirt, before reaching into his bag and producing one of the bottles that held a captive fairy. He popped back the cork and emptied the contents into his mouth, much to Ghirahim's annoyance.

 

“There is a 100% chance that you gained /absolutely nothing/ from that,” he chided, “Why would you waste the supplies my beloved master gifted you with, /stupid/ boy?”

 

“Because I need the bottle,” Shadow answered calmly, returning it to his bag.

 

“Why would you need an empty bottle?” Ghirahim asked, glaring at him.

 

“To catch a fairy,” Shadow shrugged and leaned forward, urging the horse on with a quick, 'hey-ya!”

 

“Why-” Ghirahim began again, but Shadow stood higher in the saddle and pointed. The demon followed his gaze to see an army advancing on them. At the head of the stampede rode a beautiful man in green, with a blue scarf whipping in the wind behind him. Ghirahim steeled himself as Shadow pulled the bow off his back with an arrow through his fingers. He pulled back and let it fly in one smooth motion.

 

Link advanced on the interlopers with his gaze scanning the battlefield. His training told him to look for obvious leaders, for the insignias that such soldiers bore in the dark lord's army. He raised his sword to direct his troopes in the obvious direction when he spotted the Demon King himself. He expertly guided Epona, and she changed direction as smoothly as if the knight were riding on air. He didn't even see Shadow, or feel the arrow as it caught in his horo, slowed to the point of non-existence.

 

Shadow scowled, “Stupid fucking /scarf/.” He put back the bow, and drew a boomerang. He studied the battlefield for an instant, and let it fly. This time, his aim was true. It clocked the hero in the side of the head, and he stumbled in the saddle. The boomerang flew in its arc and returned to Shadow's hand. He stood taller in the saddle and let it fly again, and this time the blow was so fierce that the Commander tumbled from Epona's back to the ground. She ran in an arch, never slowing her pace, returning full force to pick up her master, but Shadow was just as fast, and leaped from his steed, performing an expert backflip and catching the boomerang in midair. He landed in a roll as his horse ran to meet Epon and plowed into her.

 

Ghirahim had to admit that, if nothing else, the boy had style.

 

Link had climbed to his feet in the time it took to complete the move, and stood with his sword and shield drawn. He studied Shadow from a distance, and a look of recognition briefly crossed his features.

 

“Careful Link!” a fairy in his ear tinkled as she talked, “This shadow demon is forged from your own soul. You abilities are matched. He has your arsenal. To kill him, you must time your attacks wisely.”

 

Link nodded in thanks at her advice, and began to slowly circle his adversary, his eyes locked to his double.

 

“Do something!” Ghirahim hissed.

 

“Not yet,” Shadow's eyes hadn't left Link's. He slid the boomerang back into his bag, and drew his sword. He stepped, expertly in time with Link's movements, “Link! Listen to me. Put down your weapon. We are not /enemies/.”

 

“He's trying to get into your head,” the fairy chatted, “Don't listen to him. Find his weakness and strike him with the Blade of Evil's Bane!”

 

“Don't,” Shadow warned, but Link lunged. There was no time to block with the shield, so Shadow leapt, and landed on the sword that Link held in his outstretched arm. For a second, nothing happened, as they both stared at the sheer /impossibility/ of the event.

 

It was Ghirahim who broke the silence, “Get /down/, you idiot! The magic of that blade is burning through your boots! There's an 85% chance that you'll be struck down by your own stupidity!”

 

“Where are you pulling these numbers from?” Shadow asked, though the pain was beginning to radiate through his feet. He jumped again, this time in front flip, over the hero's shoulder. As he did, he put away his sword and shield, hooking them onto his back, and drew the bottle from his bag. With expert timing, he brought it down, and captured the fairy at Link's side. He held the bottle to the sky, watching the small creature squirm and plink against the glass, before he turned to Link, who was staring at him as if he had lost his mind.

 

“I caught a fairy in a bottle!” Shadow explained, “When my life energy runs out and I collapse from exhaustion, it will replenish my strength. Unless of course... I choose to boil it into soup or eat it now. My dear grandmother used to make the /best/ fairy soup. But I bet you don't remember that, do you? I bet you don't remember /anything/.”

 

Link /screamed/ as he charged, and Shadow drew Ghirahim from his sheath and struck back. The blades clashed, and both men pushed. Link's face was a sheet of anger, but Shadow's held an expression of mild curiosity that faded to sorrow.

 

“I'm not going to attack you,” He whispered, “We're evenly matched. Stop fighting and talk to me.”

 

Link's response was to hook his shield onto his back, and reach into his pack. Shadow screamed when he saw what he pulled out.

 

“Oh shit,” Link threw the bomb and Shadow flipped away. When he landed there was an arrow coming for his head, and his first instinct wasn't to grab his shield to defend himself, it was to /shoot back/. His expert marksmanship served him well, as the arrows collided in mid-air, tip to tip, and flickered away harmlessly.

 

“Have you lost your mind!?” He screamed, anger welling up when he realized that yes, yes he had. /Shadow was/ his mind, and he had lost it the day that Hylia split them. “STOP FIGHTING AND TALK TO ME!”

 

“Master,” Fi interrupted, and Shadow swore, “There is a 95% chance that he will continue to mimic your attacks. But I notice that he bears no magical medallions. There is an 89% chance that he is vulnerable to magical attacks.” Link nodded, and Shadow watched him pull a blazing red medallion out of his bag.

 

“I'LL KILL THAT BITCH,” Ghirahim shouted, “PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN! GIVE ME BACK MY PHYSICAL FORM! I WILL MAKE HER SUFFER FOR WHAT SHE'S DONE TO MY MASTER! FREE ME, BOY!”

 

In desperation, Shadow listened, and plunged the sword into the ground. Ghirahim formed at once, stepped protectively in front of Shadow, snapped his fingers, and a ring of daggers surrounded them.

 

“Stay back, boy,” Ghirahim commanded, and Shadow was amazed at his /tone/. For the first time, there was no condescending sneer, no patronizing lilt. He sounded /protective/. “I am a weapon of /mass destruction/. I am a /demon blade/.”

 

“Set them ablaze,” Fi suggested, “There is a 99% chance the shadow is flammable.”

 

Shadow blinked, and Ghirahim was /gone/. He appeared /directly/ behind Link, close enough that he was able to wrap a hand around Link's, the one holding the medallion. He moved his rapier to Link's throat and spoke slowly, softly.

 

“This is a Draconic artifact.” he said, “Does Volga know you have it? Did you steal it from a dragon's corpse? Did you kill one of our allies to get this, you meddling little murderer? Such a shame... Such a pretty boy... such a /waste/ as a thief. Did the princess tell you to take this? Do you do everything she says? How long did it take to make you so obedient that you were willing to kill for her? Was it before or /after/ she had you on your knees? What else did she train you to do? Did she have you sitting at her feet like the little lapdog you are?”

 

From his position, Shadow could see the expression's moving over Link's face; hated changed to disgust changed to denial, changed to frustration. Ghirahim may have hit a nerve, or it may just have been his overall behavior was just so offputting that Link was no longer able to stand it. Whatever the reason, he flipped the blade in his left hand, and stabbed /backwards/. He was not prepared for the result.

 

Ghirahim laughed, and his form flickered. He appeared in a blaze of diamonds between Link and Shadow. He smiled, and opened the hand that wasn't wrapped around his rapier. A medallion dangled from a chain, falling slowly from his open palm. He wrapped the chain around his fingers, spinning, spinning, spinning it back into his hand, and tossed it into the air. It disappeared in a field of diamonds.

 

“Ghirahim will repeatedly move around you, Master,” Fi explained, “I recommend engaging him with your sword as he makes his attack. It is probable that the moment before Ghirahim readies his attack, he will reveal the direction he will move as he attempts to flank you. If you are unable to establish the correct timing to attack, I suggest using your spin attack.”

 

“Bitch /please/,” Ghirahim huffed, “I am /not/ that predictable.”  
  
He braced himself, steadied his sword, and /lunged/. Link watched him move, studying him closely, and as Ghirahim rose to swing with his right hand, Link swept the ground with his blade, and cut him across the stomach in the area he left open. Ghirahim glowered, and shot a look of /hate/ at Shadow, who was still standing a safe distance away, watching the fight. He snapped his fingers and the daggers appeared /behind/ Link, and Shadow's eyes widened. Ghirahim disappeared in another blast of diamonds, and appeared behind them. Link whirled quickly to face him, leaving his back to Shadow, and /still the boy did NOTHING/.

 

The daggers flew across the battlefield, and Link threw up his shield to knock them away.

 

“HOW IS THAT PUNY HUMAN SO /FAST/!?” The demon lord roared, “SHADOW STOP BEING USELESS AND FIGHT HIM!” He glared at Link as he cautiously circled the demon, eyes locked on him, “You wretched little /gnat/. I will break you. I will keep you alive so that I can come up with new ways to torture you. I will delight in watching as you /deafen yourself with your own SCREAMS/. You will not disrespect /me/, and you will NOT stand against my MASTER!”

 

Link took the opportunity. He was a man of few words, and as such, knew how much /time/ it took to speak. Ghirahim seemed fond of the sound of his own voice, and any time he was monologing, he /wasn't/ attacking. Link moved quickly, but Ghirahim was /not/ as oblivious as he believed. He would have hit what he believed to be his weak spot, the giant glowing diamond at his hip- Gannondorf seemed to surround himself with people who made their weaknesses shockingly obvious, but Ghirahim moved faster, and gripped the blade with his bare hands.

 

Link stared in shock, open mouthed. The legends said that no one without a pure heart would be able to touch the blade. He had slain demons with it /himself/. He was the only person in Hyrule who was able to pull it from it's slumber. He had risked /everything/ when he did. The Princess had been sure that it was the only way, but even /she/ couldn't remove it from its resting place. Ghirahim jerked upward and wretched the sword from his grip. He tossed it into the air, and threw his own blade into the either, catching the Master Sword in the hand it freed.

 

“You're mine now, bitch,” he hissed at the sword and licked along her blade. Link was frozen at the sight. It was /impossible/. Ghirahim caught him staring and chuckled, deep in his chest, “Oh my, what an adorable look on you, skychild. A frightened little boy. I think I'll run you through with your own blade, JUST AS YOU DID TO MY MASTER!”

 

He raised the sword skyward, and was bringing it down when he felt something clinging to his arm. Shadow had jumped, jerking him to the side enough that he missed Link and slammed the sword into the ground beside him. He turned his gaze on Shadow and the hate didn't dissipate.

 

“Little /worm/,” he hissed, “All you humans are the same. Get off me before I slaughter you /both/.”

 

“Your master wants him alive!” Shadow shrieked, and Ghirahim seemed to come out of a daze. He mouthed the word, 'alive' and jerked his head up. Link was halfway across the battlefield, and Epona was running to meet him. Ghirahim vanished, and Shadow stumbled in his absence. He appeared before Link, but the hero didn't break stride. Without slowing down he changed direction to avoid him. Ghirahim closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held out his hand. The ground below him lit up purple, in the form of a giant circle, with runes flowing around it.

 

His eyes shot open, and he glared at shadow. “Keep him in the circle.”

 

Shadow ran, rolled, and moved as fast as he could. He and Link were matched and he had a good lead on him, and the /goddamn scarf/ blocked arrows. Without slowing down, he pulled out his boomerang and let it fly. It hit the hero in the back of the head, and he faceplanted in the grass. Shadow tackled him, and shouted as Epona bore down to kick him. He rolled, arms around Link's torso, and brought them both into the circle. They fumbled, rolling and kicking, scratching and biting, but without his spells, they moved in perfect synchronicity.

 

After a few minutes, the light intensified and Ghirahim barked a single command. “MOVE”.

 

Shadow backflipped off Link, and purple diamonds surrounded the hero. He didn't have time to stand in the time it took them to solidify, trapping him inside a giant purple crystal.

 

“THANKS FOR HAVING MY BACK, WRETCH!” Ghirahim /shrieked/ as he moved to touch it.

 

“We weren't supposed to hurt him!” Shadow huffed.

 

“We weren't supposed to /kill/ him,” Ghirahim shot back.

 

“Well it all worked out,” Shadow shrugged.

 

“He /stabbed/ me! And sullied our honor!” Ghirahim turned on him, and Shadow realized that he still had the Master Sword in his hand.

 

He threw his hands up in a gesture of submission, “Careful,” he jerked his eyes to the blade.

 

“He has been a /thorn/ in my master's side for CENTURIES” Ghirahim continued, “And you stood by and did NOTHING!”

 

“Ghirahim, calm down,” Shadow spoke quietly, “You need to put that sword up. It can hurt your master. It needs to be under lock and key.” He slid one hand down to touch the gossip stone around his neck, “Ganondorf told you not to break it”.

 

“I'm not going to BREAK it, skychild,” Ghirahim hissed, “I'M GOING TO BURY IT IN YOUR SKULL.”  
  
“What did I tell you about shrieking in my ear?” Gannondorf's voice flowed out of the stone and Shadow breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Ganondorf, our objective is finished,” Shadow explained, panting heavily, “We've got him.”  
  
“Well don't /stand/ there, fool,” Gannondorf shot back, and something on his end crackled, “Take him to the stronghold!”

 

“Ghirahim wants to kill me!” Shadow hastily continued.

 

“I am not your /mother/,” Gannondorf replied, and the crackling returned, “Don't come crying to me every time you can't get along. Ghirahim don't kill my troops. We've been over this.”

 

“Do you need assistance, master?” Ghirahim asked, the blade still drawn, body still rigid, but voice sickeningly sweet.

 

“GET THE BOY OFF THE BATTLEFIELD” Gannondorf roared, “And /guard/ it. It's /easy/ to catch the devil, almost impossible to keep him. Do not make me tell you again.”

 

“It wasn't /easy/,” Shadow protested but Ghirahim spoke over him.

 

“As you wish, master! We will return home and prepare for your victory.” He snapped his fingers and the Master Sword disappeared, then turned and strode back toward the crystal, placing one hand on it and smiling at the man trapped inside. He turned and glared at Shadow, and added, “/well/?”

 

Shadow, with little choice, raced to his side, and the three of them disappeared in a cloud of diamonds.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gannondorf captures Zelda

Zant /delighted/ in battle. He was, at his core, in his heart of hearts, a being that /delighted/ in bloodshed. He had a calm, calculated mind, betrayed by an erattic, energetic body. Often, the two did not align properly, and in most cases, this was considered a liability. Not to the Demon King. Gannondorf embraced his collected battle plans /and/ his chaotic combat style. Gannondorf believed that it was possible for complexity to exist within Zant. That had never been the case in the Dark World, with the royal family. So it was with an easy heart that he drew the queen's forces into battle.

 

It's a secret to everybody, but there is a back entrance into Hyrule Castle. If one sneaks over the wall into the royal garden on the western side, there is a certain bush. If one pulls that bush up by the roots, they will discover a secret trap door, leading underground. If one climbs into this passage, they will come out in the basement of the castle, where the prisoners are kept in a dank dungeon. Gannondorf did not care for the cold, or the humidity, as it made his hair frizz, but he bore it with the calm collectiveness of a man on a mission.

 

The army was on the battlefield, so the castle was guarded by a skeleton crew, and Gannondorf was a man who had spent his entire existence in the shadows. He could have easily avoided them with a glamour or a disguise, he had done it before. But this was to be his /last/ time in the wretched place, and he wanted to make it memorable. Weapons were /useful/ to the Gerudo King, but /unnecessary/. He was a skilled mage, like his parents before him, and it was more satisfying to strike down these Hylian scum with his bare hands.

 

As his magic drained their lifeforce he could /feel it/. It was more intimate, this death at the magic seeping from his hands, than the normal death of a severed artery as the blade passed through it. Cleaner, too. He was already going to have trouble washing the Hylian /stench/ from this place. He didn't need blood on his new floors. There were only two guards at the entrance to the dungeon, and both were dispatched quickly. These Hylians were weak and small. There were a few voe among them who /could/ be called /decent/ genetic carriers, fit to be used for pleasure slaves if there were no Gerudo males available, or if your petition were far enough back that you knew he probably wouldn't give you a child in the time frame you needed, but that was all these pathetic creatures were fit for.

 

There was no word for 'father' in the Gerudo language. It had been a difficult concept for him to grasp as a child. He knew that men were /necessary/ for childbirth, that had certainly been drilled into him when he came of age and the petitioners began beating at his door so that he never had a night to himself. But when princess Zelda spoke of a /father/ as if it were a mother, he had nothing to compare it to.

 

He had given many Gerudo warriors strong daughters, and he loved them all. But he knew that he would never be a mother to them. They would live with their /real/ mothers, though he had contact with all of them, and cared deeply about their lives. He had instilled in them, as best he could, the strength and power of their culture, of their people- they were dead now. They were all dead now, as far as he knew. He hadn't seen another Gerudo since he had awoken in this new era. When he had been sealed away by the boy in green, his people were at war with the Hylians, who had banished them from the green plains to the harsh desert because, they claimed, the Gerudo could not hear the voices of the goddesses. Because of the shape of their ears. The /Hylians/ forms matched that of the goddesses in their statues- statues carved by Hylians, therefore the /Hylians/ deserved the best land.

 

When Gannondorf had been sealed away, he had been fighting to reclaim that was rightfully Gerudo, the lands that he had heard of, before the banishing. When he awoke, his people were /extinct/. He was the last of his kind, and the brutal irony tore at his heart until the rage drove him to madness. For centuries, he had waited to enact his revenge on the people who had wronged him. He could no longer claim that it was for the Gerudo, they were dead, long dead, it seemed, since even Din's temple was in ruins, but for their memory.

 

Once he had the kingdom, once this pointless war was over, he would search. The Gerudo were cunning, his mind whispered, trying to overpower the sorrow, the Gerudo /are/ cunning. They will have survived. They will have hidden, in the wastelands that the Hylians fear, in the ocean on wayfaring ships, in the high mountains with the dragons- in places where Hylians fear to tread. We are a strong people, and we will survive. Beg, borrow, or steal, we will survive.

 

The remaining soldiers were in the throne room.  
  
It was /full/; they lined the walls leading to the throne, where the queen, in her wisdom, sat serenely, as if she were not in the middle of a battlefield. Ganondorf stared at her, and she stared back. Slowly, they both rose their right hand. The soft, yellow light filled the room, and settled on the back, on the markings that cursed them to continue this /endless/ cycle. The chosen avatars of gods among mortals. Zelda stood slowly, and spoke.

 

“I've forseen this day, Demon King,” She began, speaking slowly, calmly, “Why do you continue this cycle? You know what will come, as surely as I. It would be easier, far easier,” her eyes seemed to moisten a little, “To leave us in peace.”  
  
“Demon King,” Ganondorf scoffed, “I have a name. I am /Ganondorf/, of house /Dragmire/, child of Koume and Kotoke Dragmire, high Priestesses of the Desert Temple of Din, which /your/ people have defiled to the point that it lies in /ruins/! I am a /Gerudo Warrior/! And I will /never/ fall to the hands of /any/ Hylian. I don't care if you have an /army/. I don't care if you're a pirate, a wizard, or a shieka ninja. I. Will. Not. FALL.”

 

“You seem so certain,” the Queen looked tired, “Very well.” She raised her hand, and the soldiers /swarmed/.  
  
Gannondorf smiled, and drew his swords. He was happy to cut through the hordes of Hylians like beasts. He was high on near victory, near immortality, and /power/. But he was not foolish, though he wadded through blood and corpses, he kept an eye on the queen. He had been through this all before. So many, many times. She was /cowardly/. He knew that if he lost her here, it would be /hell/ finding her again. He had to get his /hands/ on her. It would only take a second for her to disappear in a cloud of smoke, or scurry off to some port town in disguise.

 

The soldiers fell like flies, as they always did, and the queen, in her cowardice, seemed to be whispering into a shieka stone. She apparently did not enjoy the response she got. She looked /horrified/. Ganondorf smirked. This part was /easy/. The princess claimed to be the avatar of wisdom, but she fell /so easily/.

 

He raised his hand, and took a single, clear shot while she was distracted. He saw this event, a million times over, this was the easy part. It happened in the temple of time, under the vast ocean, it had even happened here, in this very castle, more times than he could count. It happened again. The queen registered what was going to happen, with fear in her eyes, only a /moment/ before it did. As the crystal formed around her, Gannondorf wondered if she remembered it to, remembered all those other times, remembered what came next. This time, the memory would not be reality. He had broken the cycle.

 

He stepped up to the crystal and placed his hands gently on the outside. He stared at her, floating inside in suspended animation. It was too good for her, for the descendant of house Hyrule, the deathbringer. But he would not let her die. He would not let this hate cycle and be born anew.

 

He looked up as the door swung wide, and Vatti, Valdo, and Wizzaro /sauntered/ in, covered in blood and swaying confidentially in their steps. He smiled at them, and flicked his wrist, so that the crystal, and the woman imprisoned within, floated alongside him.

 

“Well, gentlemen,” He announced, “It's been a long day. Let's secure the castle, and set up the portals to the stronghold so we can get out of this Hylian hellhole and go /home/.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

At the Gerudo fortress, a flick of Ghirahim's wrist had Link out of the crystal, and a snap of his fingers pinned the knight to the wall with dozens of daggers piercing his flesh. Link let out a choked grunt of pain and /glared/ at them as the blood began to seep from his wounds.  
  
“God /damn/, it Ghirahim!” Shadow shouted, “We can use /chains/! Why do you have to be so /cruel/ all the damn time.”  
  
Ghirahim rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers again. The daggers disappeared in a flash of flickering diamonds, and think black shackles locked themselves around Link's wrists. Shadow rushed to his side and popped open the bottle he had filled at the fairy fountain. He popped it open, but Link glared at him, and refused to open his mouth. Shadow watched him, felt the /hate/ seeping off of him, and sighed.  
  
“I want to help you, Link,” he said quietly, “I'm /trying/ to help you. These are surface wounds but there were a /lot/ of them. It's not poisoned or anything. It's a normal fairy, from a normal fairy fountain. Just take it. Come on. Please?”  
  
“Let him bleed if he wants,” Ghirahim hissed, and snapped his fingers again. Link shuddered as he jerked his eyes toward the demon. He suddenly found himself nude, with his hero's tunic neatly folded in Ghirahim's hand, with his bag resting on top.  
  
“Damn it, Ghirahim, you didn't have to take his /underthings/! It gets cold in the desert at night. Stop it! Stop being such a /dick/!” Shadow turned on him.  
  
“My master told me to take anything that looked like it /might/ be enchanted,” Ghirahim argued, “You never can tell with these Hylians. In fact,” he reached over and slipped his pointer finger through the loop Link's earring. The hero strained against his chains, and /glared/.  
  
“/Don't/,” Shadow warned.  
  
But he did. Link /screamed/ as Ghirahim jerked, pulling through the flesh and tearing it away. He moved as if to do the same thing on the other side, but Shadow quickly found the fastener, unclipped it, and handed the earring to the demon.  
  
“What the /actual/ fuck is wrong with you!?” He /hissed/.  
  
Link was pressing his injured ear to his shoulder, and hissing through his teeth in pain. It sounded so similar to the noise /Shadow/ had made that Ghirahim cocked his head at him. Link was still glaring daggers at the demon, showing no fear. His eyes said that the second he got out of those chains, even without his armor, even without his sword, he would find a way to /destroy/ the people who had done this to him.  
  
Shadow pressed the bottle to his lips, and he was so distracted by Ghirahim, that he wasn't able to stop him. His breath came in short, jagged gasps as his wounds knitted themselves back together, and he rested against the wall. His eyes flickered around the cell, obviously searching for weak spots. It seemed to be underground. The architecture was /obviously/ Gerudo. It was the type of cell he believed they would keep their pleasure slaves in, once they had kidnapped Hylian men. It was bare of most creature comforts, but the bed looked nice enough. After all, it wasn't for the prisoner. But he couldn't reach it. His arms were shackled above his head to the bare wall the color of sand. It seemed unnecessary.  
  
“This seems unnecessary,” Shadow said as Link thought it, “Can't we just lock him in?”  
  
“No,” Ghirahim said, casually, “You're spoiling him.” He sashayed to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge, “I hate this hat. I don't think I ever made that clear enough. Green is a good color on him, but this outfit is atrocious.” He unfolded it and laid it out on the bed, and held up the shield, “I don't know if the master wants these things or not.” He tossed it casually onto the clothes and Link glared at him.  
  
Ghirahim opened the bag and reached inside, then grimiced, “Oh /ew/, it's one of those bags of holding. This will take /forever/ to go through.” he leaned into the bag, with his arm disappearing inside, up to the elbow, then up to the shoulder. Eventually, he gave up and held it upside down. He shook it vigorously, and things began to fall out, first, a wallet, followed by a bomb bag, a quiver of arrows, a bow that became stuck so that Ghirahim had to pry it loose, two more pairs of boots, two more sets of clothes, countless accessories, magical rods, four bottles, two of which were filled with viscous potions, the other two held captive fairies, and on and on it went. The room was full by the time he could get nothing else to fall from the open bag. He reached his arm inside again, and began to feel around, but satisfied himself that he had actually found everything.  
  
“Why would you travel with so much /nonsense/?” Ghirahim asked in disgust. He knelt to begin the arduous task of going through the things, while Link watched with interest. If he could get out of those shackles and get his hands on even /one/ of the weapons scattered at his feet, he would have a chance of escape.  
  
Ghirahim picked up an Ocarina, and blew a few notes.  
  
“Let me see that,” Shadow asked, stretching out his hand. Ghirahim shrugged, and handed it to him. Shadow pressed it to his lips and played a familiar, haunting tune. There was a crash of booming thunder, and the pattering of rain against the building. Link thought that he may not be underground after all.  
  
“Oh, it's enchanted,” Ghirahim smiled, “That will be a /boon/ in the desert. Master will love that.”  
  
“Yeah...” Shadow agreed absentmindedly, looking down at the Ocarina. “I used to play... used to play the ocarina. Before. Before we split.”  
  
“That's nice,” Ghirahim replied in a tone that implied he wasn't paying attention, “Look at this. These sacred medallions, weapons inscribed with different runes; draconic, shieka, these gantlets bear the seal not only of the Gerudo, but of the clan /Dragmire/. He stole these things. There isn't a tribe in Hyrule that thief hasn't plundered!”  
  
He picked up a mask and stared at it. Shadow saw a look of recognition pass his face, and Ghirahim snapped his fingers. The mask was gone, and he went back to rifling through Link's belongings.  
  
“This bag,” he said, opening it to peer at the bombs inside, “Is made from the organ of a dragon. He's literally /wearing the flesh of his enemies/. I wonder how Volga will feel about that? Hm... Probably about the same way he'll feel when he sees this stolen hammer. How did he /do/ it? Aren't these sacred artifacts kept closely guarded in temples that pertain to my master's sacred goddess? He didn't... kill all the priests and desecrate the temples, did he? Not /this many/. No man could anger so many gods and survive...”  
  
“That,” Came the booming voice of Ganondorf Dragmire, “Is /exactly/ what he did.”  
  
Ghirahim's eyes lit up at the sight of his master, striding confidently toward the cell, covered in the blood of his enemies and smelling of victory. He bolted to unlock the door for him, and threw his arms around his neck. Gannondorf let him cling, as long as kept up with his long strides. Link glared daggers at the Demon King, but his gaze jerked to something else.  
  
Zant was unlocking a separate cell, and Volga was carrying a crystal. Inside, the Hylian Queen rested, with her hands folded daintily in her lap, looking for all the world as if she were just in a peaceful slumber.  
  
“ZELDA!” Link shouted, and everyone froze.  
  
The only sound was the pitter patter of the rain, and Link's movement as he thrashed desperately against the chains that bound him. His captors all stood, as if enchanted, their tasks for the moment forgotten, as they watched him. It was Gannondorf who finally broke the silence.  
  
“Stop standing around! Volga get her in that cell and Zant get the wards up! Just because we rode here in victory does /not/ mean that we should get /sloppy/!”   
  
The spell was broken, and they moved to obey.  
  
Gannondorf moved with care and grace, avoiding all the weapons, armor, and brick-a-brack that Ghirahim had tossed to the floor, and shook off the demon, who stepped back respectfully. Gannondorf cupped Link's small face in one hand, and forced him to look into his eyes. A bolt of lightning shot through the hand that touched the knight, down the nerves of the arm, and lit up his entire spine. The magic connected, from the touch, and a soft, yellow light filled the room. Link opened and closed his left hand reflexively- the magic made it tingle.  
  
“There are a /number/ of things I need you to understand,” Ganondorf explained, calmly, as if he were talking to a child, “This is only the first. When she touched you, the thing you felt /was not love/. You feel it now. It is a /connection/. But it is not /romantic/. We, the three of us- you, I, and the /tyrant/ Hyrule, are /connected/. We are /cursed/. We can never break it. LOOK AT ME!”  
  
Link had closed his eyes, trying to /will/ whatever he was feeling to drain from his body. Trying to use whatever power the goddesses had seen fit to grant him to /force/ an untruth into what he was hearing. He and Gannondorf were not the same. Except that they were. The marks on both of their bodies were glowing with /exactly/ the same light. Exactly the same magic.   
  
It was like touching Zelda.  
  
So he opened his eyes.  
  
“I will not be ignored.” Ganondorf warned, “I will not be disrespected in my own house. You will /listen/ when I /speak/.”  
  
Link glared at him. He did not look away, did not try to jerk his head or his gaze, did not close his eyes. He /seemed/, at least, to be paying attention.  
  
“I cannot break this connection,” Ganondorf continued, “And neither can you. But I /will/ control it. I have done this SO. MANY. TIMES. I will /not/ do it again. This is the last time. It /will/ remain open. And the /three/ of us are the keys. So you, I, and the “queen”- we are all going to live. No one else is going to die today. Do you understand?”  
  
Link glared at him, said nothing, and made no motion.  
  
Gannondorf tightened his grip, “You listen to me, little hero. I've been in this game too long. I've outlived more 'heroes' than you can imagine. I /saved/ you, do you know that? Do you know how close you came to becoming a sniveling little pleasure slave to an obsessed sorcerer? Do you know that she had a garden full of statues made in your likeness? Do you think that she would have /ever/ let you leave? If it were not for /me/, your life would be one of servitude. She would have locked you away to use for her pleasure, and when she needed no more children, or your grew out of that pretty baby face and started getting wrinkles? She would have used /my/ power to /end/ you.”  
  
Link jerked with more strength than his small frame would have indicated, freeing his face from Ganondorf's hand, so the Demon King was forced to grab a handful of his hair.  
  
“Stop. Fighting.” Ganondorf advised, “And be thankful that you are still /alive/. If there's one thing that I learned in my long life, /Link/, it is this. If you are alive, you have hope. As long as there is breath in your body, you have /something/. I /could/ have taken that from you. I am /choosing/ not to. Do you know why? Because I don't think anyone else here does. Except maybe your own /shadow/.”  
  
Link's entire body was shaking. The chains that held him were pulled tight against the wall. His breath came in quick bursts between clenched teeth.  
  
“Because despite everything... I don't blame /you/.” Ganondorf said it slowly, and so quietly that none of his underlings could hear, “Because I had watched too often... as a /stupid/, /uneducated/ peasant had /everything/ torn away from him by a /monster/. Hylians are evil... even to their own kind. I've seen terrible things, boy. I've seen a grieving woman run out her own home and die at the hands of her own people on the edge of the Lost Woods. I've seen creatures of the forest take that child and try to shield it from the evil's of it's own race. I've seen a ten-year old child commit cold-blooded /murder/ on the orders of a princess who told him that he was only slaughtering /animals/. I've seen a /stupid/ boy do horrible things, because he /believed/ everything he was told, who /cannot/ bring himself to /speak/ because he has been carrying this weight for /centuries/, and he's afraid that if he opens his mouth, it will all spill out at once until it tears him apart.”  
  
“I have seen,” he went on, “My home, and the temple to the Great and Powerful Din, /desecrated/ and /destroyed/. I've seen our culture and our artifacts /destroyed/ or /stolen/. I've seen my parents /murdered/ on /sacred ground/. I have seen /many/ things. I should hate you.”

 

His grip tightened and Link felt some of the hair leave his scalp. Ghirahim moved to embrace Ganondorf again, but Shadow held up a hand to stop him.  
  
“But I have had /centuries/... /alone/. To think. And I realized... many things. I cannot blame an abused child for the crimes of his culture. I cannot blame a /weapon/ for the actions of it's wielder. You're not an /archer/, boy. You're an arrow.” The grip in his hair relaxed, and Link stared up at Ganondorf in confusion, “I think my sister realized that, as well. So... I am letting you live. For now.”  
  
He picked up the gantlets that Ghirahim had noticed earlier, and looked at them.  
  
“Oh!” Ghirahim perked up, “I saw those before! I noticed that they were yours! This thief has stolen them, and I was planning on cleaning them and-”  
  
“They're not mine,” Ganondorf cut him off. He held one of the gantlets up to his arm, to indicate how ridiculous such a notion was. There was no way the tiny thing would fit over his forearm. He stared at it, in thought, and eventually added, “I have a set, the ones I'm wearing. But these weren't mine. And I don't think they were stolen... They could have been, but I think that they were freely given. They do bear the mark of a Gerudo warrior... she was my sister. A princess under my reign. Her name was 'Naburoo'. I loved her. She was there... the day our parents died. I don't know... I don't know everything that happened. I think that she survived.” His shoulders slumped as his fingers traced the markings on the gauntlets, “She thought... that I was making trouble. She didn't want to take revenge. She was afraid of the Hylians. We were already so weak... they had already done so much. They had tried to starve us, run us from the fertile fields into the harsh desert...”  
  
“'Don't make trouble, Gan,' she told me, 'They're too strong. They could wipe us out so easily. We must be cautious.' And I... I-” He took a deep breath.  
  
“She's dead now, I expect.” He straightened himself, and pressed the gantlets together in one hand, “That was /centuries/ ago.”  
  
“I'm sorry, master,” Ghirahim reached to touch him, tentatively, and rubbed his hand up and down Ganondorf's arm when he didn't pull away.  
  
“There's no reason to feel sorrow,” Ganon explained to him, “We've taken Hyrule. We /won/. We're victorious. Ghirahim, I want all of these things teleported upstairs so we can go through them. Zant! Volga! I want this place so packed with guards that this boy doesn't dare /breath/ heavily. Where the hell is Vaati? He better be preparing my victory feast! Let's go. We deserve one night of merriment before I have to actually deal with the running of the kingdom I've just conquered. Din knows that vain witch has probably got it in /shambles/.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's wrong, hero? Afraid of your shadow?

Link had taken in his surroundings as best he could when he was captured. The best he could tell in the windowless room, with no sun to go by, only a little over an hour had passed. The rain still beat down on the wall behind him, leading him to believe that the stone was all that separated him from sweet freedom. A lesser man would have been worried about escaping into the desert with no clothes or water, but not Link. He was a /hero/.  
  
He had tugged the chains to their full length, which allowed him to sit on the floor. If he leaned forward, he could just press his forehead to the cool stone, but that was a stupid position to be in, and left him vulnerable to attack. It was, however, the only way that he could mimic lying down, and even then his arms stretched painfully, and he had nowhere to put his legs. Ghirahim had chained him so that there was no real way he could sleep. The chains were too slack to keep him against the wall, and too short to properly lie down. So he sat, with his back against the wall, and watched the guards.  
  
The room was full of moblins who seemed to be high on victory. /They/ were eating well, whatever feast Ganondorf had mentioned that was going on upstairs seemed to trickle down. The last time Link had eaten had been at breakfast. It had been time for the noonday meal when the evil forces swarmed the castle, and he had had to abandon it. It didn't concern him. He had gone far longer without eating, and had trained himself not to /expect/ sustenance. It was better to be prepared for the worst, and take what you could get.  
  
What concerned him was the weapons. Each of the moblins held one of those ridiculously huge swords, to match their frames. If he could get his hands on one of them, just /one/, he could take out the entire group easily. He knew that he wouldn't be able to lift the princess without his gauntlets, but Ganondorf had said that they were upstairs. He could get them back. He could get /everything/ back.  
  
He just needed to figure out a way out of the /goddamn/ chains. This had never been an issue before. His small frame usually meant that prisons were built with larger captives in mind. There had been several occasions where he could just slip right out. But these demon chains were so tight that they cut into his flesh when he moved.   
  
He had briefly considered that, trying to use the chains to cut off one of his hands. It was still an option, but he just wasn't that desperate /yet/. He tangled his fingers through the chains and /pulled/.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He didn't understand how the demon's magic worked. He didn't even know how the things were attached to the wall.  
  
The guards didn't notice the shadow approaching his cell, but Link did. He narrowed his eyes as the creature that moved /so much like him/ stopped at the door, opened it with a key from his belt, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.  
  
“Don't think about trying to take this key from me, please?” He asked, “It was /hell/ convincing Ghirahim to let me borrow it. He thought you'd overpower me somehow and take it and get out. I was like, 'Dude he's /literally/ chained to the wall'. Anyway, I convinced them to let me bring you some soup so you don't fucking starve to death. Vaati made it. I guess he remembered I liked it... it was just our appetizer but... I guess they don't want you eating /too/ well.”  
  
Link didn't move from his spot on the ground as Shadow approached. He watched him cautiously, and said nothing.  
  
“Oh, /come on/, hero,” Shadow laughed a little, trying to lighten the moon, “Afraid of your shadow? Come on. If you stand up, I think that there's enough slack for you to drink this. It's fairy soup. In another lifetime, it was your favorite, too. Our grandma used to make it. She called it 'elixir soup'. It's good for you.”  
  
Link's face remained unchanged, and he didn't move.  
  
“You don't remember that, do you?” he sighed, “Zelda gets all her memories back, when the triforce activates. But you... you don't remember any of your past lives, do you?” Link was no longer looking at him as he spoke, “I remember, Link. It wasn't always like this. We had people who loved us, all at different times, and in different ways, but we weren't always alone. A grandmother. A sister. An uncle. Parents.”  
  
He sighed as Link stared straight ahead, at the guards beyond the bars, or, perhaps, at nothing at all. So Shadow stepped into his line of sight.  
  
“Link. Stand up and take this. Sooner or later, you're going to get hungry, and if you don't take it, I'm going to leave it sitting on the floor, and you're going to wind up lapping it up like a dog. And that's gonna piss me off.”   
  
Link refused to look at him, so Shadow knelt to be face to face with the defeated knight.  
  
“I do not work for Ganondorf Dragmire. You /saw/ what happened. I'm not one of his minions. Cia summoned me to capture /you/. Ganondorf is right, she's /crazy/. So I left. That is the /second/ time in my life I've been imprisoned by a woman trying to bang you and I didn't like it either time. You're making this a lot harder on yourself than you need to.” he took a sip from the bowl and slid it as close as he could to Link, setting it on the ground, pressed up against his knees.  
  
“The reason that he hasn't killed you, is because he doesn't want to break the link. As long as you and Zelda are alive and he knows where you are, there's no one to kill him. You're an /asset/. I'm really scared that if you make yourself a /liability/, he'll change his mind, He's not /real/ stable. No more than we are. No more than /she/ is.”  
  
He sighed as Link kept avoiding eye contact. He could see why Ganon had screamed at him earlier.  
  
“Please just... “ he sighed, and ran through his hair, followed Link's eyeline to the crystal, and turned back to him, “Hey. Listen.” Link /finally/ met his eyes, and Shadow went on, with sincerity, “She's alright. She's better off in suspended animation than she would be dead. I know it's a lot to process. I don't want you to die, Link. Please don't do anything stupid, like you usually do. We're connected. I'm... I'm nothing. Just a /shadow/. I was /jerked/ away from my body and forced into existence scrambling for meaning. Cia isn't the first person to do it. Vaati awoke me, demanded that I helped him, kept me under magical control, and do you know what he did? He said, 'Oh, hey, Shadow, how the hell are you?' like /nothing ever happened/.”  
  
“I want to get back together,” He explained, keeping eye contact with the hero, “Because you and I? We're /supposed/ to be one person. I'm no mage. I don't know /how/ to do that. But there are a ton of smart mages here. We have to play their game. We have to let them think that we're on their side, and manipulate them into putting us back together. And when we get our life back,” he leaned even farther in, to whisper in Link's ear, “We're gonna take that wrecking ball, and that fire rod that I saw in your arsenal, and we are going to /burn/ this place, /and/ Hyrule Castle /to the ground/.”  
  
Link stared at him in slack-jawed wonder as he stood. He understood the hatred toward Ganondorf and his gang, the desire to hurt them, but what possible problem could Shadow have with the Hylians? He watched as the shadow stood and backed away. He didn't unlock the door to leave, just walked /through/ the bars, turning briefly to black smoke as they passed through his body.  
  
“I think twists,” Ganondorf was saying, and Shadow entered the dining hall, “It's an elegant updo, and a classic Gerudo look. I want it to be /classy/. I've contacted Yuga to do a portrait after the coronation. He's a talented artist from the Dark World. It'll hang in the new palace, once we get it built, so it needs to be /grand/.”  
  
“Can I do your make-up?” Ghirahim asked, taking Ganondorf's hand, “I've been studying every Gerudo text I could find and I think you'd look absolutely /breathtaking/ with some gold and white highlights. Something /dramatic/ and regal,” he seemed lost, studying his master's face with a look of pure adoration, “Oh and I have to redo your nails... they're all chipped from battle.”  
  
“Yeah,” Vaati agreed sarcastically, “Let Ghirahim do it. He's been wearing the same tired look since the God Wars. That's the way to go.”  
  
“Tired look?” Ghirahim stood, bent over the table and hissed, “What the /hell/ is that supposed to mean!? I am /gorgeous/.”  
  
  
“It means that you look... ok so have you ever been to an exclusive club? Like a Milk Bar? You look like the guy who stands at the back of the club and lets the cute guys have free coke if they'll suck you off” Vaati smiled, “Purple eyeshadow and shit.”  
  
“PURPLE BRINGS OUT MY EYES, YOU UNINSPIRED INSECT!” he slammed his open palms on the table, shaking the dishes as Ganondorf rubbed his temples.  
  
“Master,” Volga sighed, “I refuse to sit at this table if this vain nonsense is allowed to continue.”  
  
“Vaati why do you tease him? You know how he gets,” Ganondorf snapped.  
  
“Because it's /hilarious/. Look how mad he is. Over /nothing/.” Vaati took a sip of his wine and motioned at Ghirahim.  
  
“I feel like the only reason he hasn't torn you limb from limb is because he feels like it would be a rude thing to do at my table,” Ganondorf explained, patiently, “You're playing with fire. Stop it before you burn my house down. And Ghirahim. Sit down and stop being so dramatic. He's trying to get under your skin. I am not your /mother/. Mediating nonsense is below me. Don't make me do it again.”  
  
“Wearing dark colors under your eyes,” Ghirahim said with venom in his voice as he obediently took his seat, “Keeps away the glare during battle.”  
  
“You look like,” Vaati began, and closed his mouth at the look Ganondorf gave him.  
  
“To answer your question, Ghirahim,” Ganon continued as if nothing had happened, “Yes. If you like, and if you make me look /presentable/. I would like a /classic/ Gerudo look. There may even be some gold foil around here somewhere. Those Hylians shake in their boots when they see a Gerudo Warrior. I wish I could still fit into my old battle armor. Ugh,” he looked at the empty plate below him and took a sip of his wine, “In my youth, you could fit both hands around my waist,” he made a motion with his hands to indicate, “By Din, I'm /literally/ a fat pig.”  
  
“The vanity in this conversation is overwhelming,” Volga glared, “No humanoid form can compare to the brilliant shine of a dragon's scales.”  
  
“I feel like if you wanted the first part of that to be hard hitting, you should have just stopped. Like you shouldn't have gone on about how pretty you were,” Vaati advised.  
  
“I think that you're /gorgeous/, master,” Ghirahim put both hands on Ganon's forearm, “In your /true/ form, when you were Demise, you were even larger than you are now. You have to be big enough to contain yourself. You shouldn't restrain yourself to /mortal/ standards of beauty.”  
  
“That is... oddly comforting Ghirahim,” Ganon sighed, then added, “I'm nervous. Every time I get things the way I want them, something horrible happens. There's a flood, or a redead infestation, or /something/ terrible, and everyone looks for a scapegoat and blames me. I really need everything to go smoothly at my coronation. I want you to promise me now that you won't do anything dramatic.”  
  
“Master, I swear to you on my heart and soul that I will be on my /best/ behavior during your coronation and that if one of those Hylian upstarts tries to awaken my wrath I will,” he took a deep breath, and tried to will his body to stop shaking, “Bear it in complete silence while I defer to your judgment.”  
  
“You lying liar,” Vaati laughed, and /choked/ as one of Ghirahim's daggers lodged itself in his throat.   
  
Volga laughed, and slid the soup he was blindly grasping for closer to him. Vaati jerked the blade out, and his form flickered and he poured the elixir into his mouth. He gasped and sputtered as the wound began to knot itself together.  
  
“You deserved that,” Ganondorf said calmly.  
  
“He's alive,” Shadow took advantage of the pause in conversation to finally speak, “If anyone cares.”  
  
“Of course he is,” Ghirahim rolled his eyes, “I wasn't going to kill him.”  
  
“/Link/” Shadow huffed, “Is alive.”  
  
Vaati coughed blood into a cloth napkin.  
  
“That's nice,” Ghirahim turned back to Ganondorf, indicating that he didn't /care/ whether Link lived or died, and considered the conversation over.  
  
“He isn't going to starve in a /day/, Shadow.” Ganondorf explained, “If I had wanted to kill him, I would have killed him. He's safer here than he would be out there. Ask Agahnim how Hylians treat /their/ prisoners. Come. Sit down. We were just going to discuss how we plan to decorate my new castle. I think it needs a /complete/ redesign. We need to remove all the Hylian traces from that place. I don't intend for it to be reworked completely in my image, either. I want representation for all races in Hyrule.”  
  
“I've got three words for you,” Vaati folded the bloody napkin neatly and set it back on the table, then raised a hand to punctuate each word for dramatic effect, “Big. Fucking. Sword.”  
  
“What you need,” Volga added, “is a giant lake of lava.”  
  
Shaow took a seat, and tuned out the rest of the conversation.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You got Elixir Soup! This healthy soup your grandmother makes replenishes all of your life energy and magic power! Your attack power also doubles until the first time you take damage! Now THAT is one hearty soup! And your kind old grandmother filled your bottle so full that there's two helpings inside! Isn't she the sweetest?"   
>  — In-game description

The rain had finally stopped, and the guards had grown weary. The meal had worn on them, and they milled about in small groups, playing cards or chatting in low voices. Some even dozed where they sat, starting abruptly from dreams when they realized that they were supposed to be working. It wasn't as if they really needed to be there, after all. In their minds they were watching over a crystal, and a weakened boy in chains.

 

Link looked at the bowl of yellow liquid by his knees, then at the guards, none of whom were watching him. Shadow was right. He was getting hungry. He tried to reach out and take it, to lift it to his lips to drink, but the chains stuck fast. He stood and reached down, as if it would make a difference, but of course, it did not.

 

His bare flesh was pimpled with gooseflesh as the cold of the desert night bit into him. He shuddered with every breath and his teeth clattered as his small body tried to reserve the heat it made. When he exhaled, he could see the cloud of moisture escape from his lungs. He sat back on his knees, trying to cuddle into himself as much as possible, and avoid all the contact he could with the cold stones. He wished for a window so that he could at least mark the passage of time.

 

He watched to make sure that none of the guards were looking at him before he leaned forward, surrendering the last of his dignity. Shadow was right. He was trapped. He wasn't strong enough to break the demon chains, or smart enough to figure out how to get out of them. He was going to do it. He was going to lap the goddamn soup from a bowl on the floor. Like a dog. Like a /chained/ dog. Like the demon's lord abused /pet/.

 

At least it was /delicious/. Even cold, the soup tasted like... somewhat like a fairy, but it was more than that. It was more than the sugar on his tongue. It tasted like... the sea. It tasted like somewhere far away and familiar, like memories, like a child who grew up not in an unforgiving battlefield, in barracks where the best one could hope for was friendship. It tasted like... the love of a parent. The cold bit into his flesh a little less with every swallow.

 

A shadow slid along the floor, and he jerked upright, watching its movement. It came into the room and darted quickly into the cell with the crystal containing the queen. Shadow Link? No. When this shadow took form, it was a Hylian, a /real/ Hylian, wearing long purple mage robes that blended into the shadows of the room. He didn't look at Link, but went directly to the crystal and placed both hands on it's smooth surface.

 

“Oh what a waste,” The Hylian said, and Link agreed, “To keep such a rare treasure locked away... a direct descendant of royalty. The reincarnation of a goddess... down here /collecting dust/. Such beauty should be treasured, not as a keepsake, but as...”

 

He leaned in, and pressed his lips to the crystal, and Link shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

 

No.

 

“This royal bloodline must continue,” Vaati went on, “The Demon King is a fool to think it should be wasted.” He moved his hands over the crystal, and runes appeared on its surface. They began to glow with a soft purple light, and the crystal flickered, then disappeared.

 

Zelda fell to the ground in a heap, and the Hylian knelt to lift her by the shoulders. He reached one hand down to stroke her face and her eyes fluttered open. It seemed to take her a second to register where she was and what was happening, then the look of horror crossed her face, and she called out to him.

 

“LINK!”

 

He threw his entire bodyweight into the chains, and felt them /snap/. A weak link somewhere gave way. He felt the adrenaline shoot through his body- /no/, he corrected himself. He knew this feeling. It was no mere physical manifestation of need, it was /magic/. He connected the dots instantly, fell hard to his knees, and grabbed the bowl. He brought it to his lips and drank it in gulps until the thing was empty, then threw it at the door to his cell. He wrapped both hands around the remaining chain and /pulled/, while the soft yellow light glowed from the back of his hand.

 

“No hero is coming for you, princess,” Vaati explained. He had complete confidence in Ghirahim's spells, and saw no need to even look in the hero's direction. For her part, Zelda couldn't see past his torso, but her mind called out to the man in green, and from only a few feet away, he listened.

 

“Unless...” Vaati continued, oblivious, “Yes. I am your hero. I have come to save you,” He sat her gently on the ground, and Link rushed to the door. It was locked, and he smashed his fists into it to no avail. He pushed with all his might but the chains on the other side held firm. He bowed his head and prayed to his patron goddess, Feore for the courage, then, in desperation, to Din for /power/.

 

Inside her cell, Vaati put one hand on either side of Zelda's shoulders, and hoisted his body weight until he was on top of her. Link could see the horror on her face as she finally turned to see him at the exact second the weakest link on the chains holding him inside the cell /shattered/. It burst open and every moblin in the room turned to look at him. That was fine. He grabbed a decorative ceramic pot that had been sitting by the doorway and smashed it over the head of the first to attack him. While the moblin was in a daze, he grabbed the sword from the thing's back, and /removed it's head from it's shoulders/.

 

Vaati had been leaning down to press a kiss to the captive princess's lips when he realized the vastness of his mistake.

 

“Oh /shit/,” He said in awe, as he watched the /bloodshed/. Link was slicing through the moblins like blades of grass, and he was so caught up in watching this happen, trying to figure out how he was going to un-fuck himself, that he did not see the princess burst into flame before it was too late.

 

The room lit up like the sun when the most powerful mage in Hyrule cast Din's fire, and Vaati screamed as he burned. He scrambled backwards off of her, rolling on the ground while he tried to get out of his robe. Eventually he gave up, and sank into shadow. The puddle melted into the floor as Zelda backed against the wall, her breathing coming in ragged gasps, her shoulders arching each time her lungs inflated.

 

Link was bathed in blood as he tried to make his way to her. He was surrounded, so planted his feet, jumped, and /spun/, slashing out in all directions, and his enemies fell, painting the walls and the furniture, splattering all over his naked body. He suddenly was more aware of this fact, and felt Zelda's eyes on him. When there were no more guards left to kill, he flipped over one of the corpses and cut free the leather shirt the thing wore. He draped it over his shoulders and it reached to his knees. He held it closed and stripped the belt from the corpse to cinch it at his waist before he began to search the corpses for a set of keys.

 

“Hurry!” Zelda pleaded, and added, as if he didn't know, “We have to get out of here.”

 

He moved as quickly as he could, finding any number of things, like necklaces or weapons, but his head darted up when he heard the clink of metal on metal.

 

“Are you looking for these?” Demon Lord Ghirahim asked, holding up a ring of keys that cast beams of light reflected from the flickering torchlight.

 

There was a puff of smoke, and from her cell, the princess vanished.

 

“Oh my GOD,” Ghirahim asked, “REALLY!?”

 

Link sighed with relief, and took off running in the opposite direction. The Demon lord vanished, and appeared in the doorway he was running toward, so he doubled back, to see Ganondorf himself standing at the stairway, flanked by Vaati and Zant.

 

“That did not just happen,” The Demon King glowered, cracking the clay face mask he wore, “It is four in the morning and this is not happening. This is a dream.”

 

“I saw it!” Vaati shrieked, “He broke his chains, slaughtered his captives, and set the princess free!”

 

“Without opening the door?” Zant asked, voice filled with confusion, “He's no mage. How did he break my wards?”

 

“I don't /know/,” Vaati hissed, and Link raised the sword he still held, trying to figure out which exit to fight his way through.

 

“Why were you down here to /see/ it?” Ghirahim asked, voice full of venom, “Come to admire your pretty little princess?”

 

“I came to check on the prisoners!” Vaati huffed, “Of course.”

 

“Do you know what /I/ think happened?” Ghirahim asked.

 

“I have no desire to know how your twisted little mind works,” Vaati spat at him

 

Ganondorf was ignoring their squabbling. His eyes had never left Link's. He raised a hand to stop the bickering and commanded, “Someone restrain the boy.”

 

Ghirahim lifted his hands and began to dance, as the room lit up with a soft, purple light. Link screamed and dove from the circle that appeared, landing at Gannondorf's feet. He brought his sword down across the man's chest, and he stumbled as it cut past his nightclothes and into his flesh. Purple blood sprayed from the wound and he fell into the doorway.

 

“MASTER!” Ghirahim /shrieked/, and it resonated from the walls. Suddenly Link was on the ground, and spots were appearing in his vision. He looked up, into the face of the demon lord, and was vaguely aware of his hands around his throat.

 

Gannondorf stood as the wound knitted itself back together, and watched for a few seconds as Ghirahim's clothing fell away, and his flesh turned to darkness. The muscles in his back rippled as he bore the brunt of his impressive weight down on the hero's throat. Link lashed out, and smashed with the last of his strength at the diamond that was now glowing on the demon's chest. Ghirahim let go with one hand to cover it as he winced in pain, and Link took a shallow breath, and reared back to strike again, but his hands were pinned above his head by the wrists where Zant held them.

 

“Don't kill him,” Zant said, “Master wants him alive.” His gaze traveled from Ghirahim's face to the man now towering over all of them, while Vaati continued to cower in the corner.

 

“Why are there so many corpses in my home, boy?” Ganondorf asked, then to Ghirahim added, “Let him breath so that he can answer me.”

 

Ghirahim took his hand away, but didn't move from his spot, keeping Link pinned to the ground.

 

“Why,” Ganondorf asked again, “Are these men /dead/, boy?”

 

When Link glared at him, panting, hyperventilating, Ganondorf's voice /boomed/ throughout the stronghold, “WHY DID YOU THINK THESE MEN HAD TO DIE!?”

 

Link flinched, and wracked his brain. His survival instincts were kicking in, and he knew that he had to say /something/. His mind only pulled up images of Vaati, of what he had done, what he was /going/ to do, and he couldn't articulate them, so he tried to pull one of his arms free to point, but Zant held him fast, and whatever was in that potion seemed to have worn off the second Ghirahim attacked him. Now he felt tired, weak, and cold again.

 

“Vaati was going to rape Zelda!” Shadow cried, and Link had no idea where he came from, “That's what he's thinking. That's what he's trying to tell you.”

 

Everyone's gaze turned to the man cowering by the door.

 

“He's lying!” Vaati hissed in Shadow's direction, “He wasn't even here!”

 

“Link and I share a bond,” Shadow hissed right back, “and he thinks that you broke Zant's wards and freed the bearer of wisdom so that you could have your way with her!”

 

“Well then he's lying!” Vaati screamed back.

 

Gannondorf stepped onto Link's chest and glared at Vaati. Link winced in pain from the weight, and thought he felt something inside him, probably a rib, snap.

 

“You wretched little /rat/,” Ganondorf's eyes were glowing, “After everything I've done for you, you would betray me like this?”

 

“Master,” Vaati threw up his hands in submission, “Master please I-”

 

“DID YOU DO THIS THING?” Ganondorf bellowed, “I want to hear the truth. If I get a confession, I will show /mercy/, but DO NOT. LIE TO ME.”

 

“I... I thought...” Vaati stumbled over his words, “I thought I could... control her. I've done it before. I... yes. I broke the wards. I-”

 

“YOU FOOL!” Ganondorf's deep voice filled the chamber, and his hands began to glow.

 

“Mercy, master! You said if I confessed,” Vaati begged, falling against the wall and sliding to his knees as the image of the demon flickered within Ganondorf.

 

“Mercy,” Ganondorf considered it, and Vaati felt his life hang in the balance, “I will not kill you,” Ganondorf decided and Vaati fell into a bow that pressed his face to the stone floor, among the blood that had gathered there.

 

“Thank you, master. I'll find her. I'll bring her back. I'll make up for-” Vaati babbled.

 

“I will only strip you of the power I have given you,” Ganondorf continued, and Vaati began to glow.

 

His head jerked up, and the begging became stronger, “What!? No! No, master please! I'll find her! I swear I'll find her! Please don't! Don't make me go back to that! Don't take-” He screamed, as the yellow light of the triforce took over completely. The power of the scream faded, as the lungs used to create it shrank.

 

It appeared, for a second, as if Vaati were dead, as if the Demon King had gone back on his word, and simply eviscerated him. The robes he wore lay in a crumpled heap, the blood from Link's kills soaking into the fabric. Then, it moved, shifted, and a tiny creature the size of a mouse darted from one blood-stained sleeve and ran for the doorway.

 

“Ghirahim, catch that thing,” Ganondorf commanded, and the demon lord reached out a hand. A tiny crystal appeared around the picori, and it snapped to Ghirahim's hand. He held it up and Ganondorf took it, watching the small creature stare up at him with it's terrified eyes. He handed it back to the demon lord and instructed, “Put that thing in a bottle and carry it with you until I figure out what to do with it. And bring the boy with us. I want him punished for this.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You got the whip! Tap the screen to give it a crack! Tap and hold objects to latch onto them and swing from them! Tap and hold certain flying objects to hitch a ride!"   
>  — In-game description

Link had thought about simply going limp in the Demon Lord's arms, but Ghirahim would have none of it. He had magiced up a new set of manacles, which dug into the knight's wrists, and yanked him along by the chain. His strides were much longer than Link's, and he had to jog to keep up with the men who surrounded him. Ghirahim was holding the chains in only one hand, but his strength was amazing. He didn't even seem to notice if Link dead stopped and threw his entire bodyweight into the chains to jerk them free, just flicked his wrist and pulled him along.  
  
Ghirahim's other hand was laced around the fabric of Ganondorf's nightshirt, and Link could tell from his body language that the Demon King considered this affection more of an annoyance than a comfort. It gave him some small satisfaction to know that, whatever the demon's affections were, they were not returned. He hoped that it brought him some measure of pain.  
  
If he stopped, which he tried not to do, now that he knew it was pointless, Zant would roughly shove him with an order to keep up, or Shadow would step in and place a hand gently but firmly somewhere on his back, and keep him from stumbling. He had no idea where they were going as they led him up the steps and out of the dungeon.   
  
“You should try to rest, master,” Ghirahim was saying, in a voice much too sweet for him, “You have this mortal body, and you've been pushing it so hard lately.”  
  
“I planned on getting up in two hours. There's no point,” Ganondorf replied, annoyed and gruff, “I should have foreseen something like this. I should have known that /someone/ would betray me.”  
  
“I never trusted the little rat,” Ghirahim agreed, and opened a door in the stucco wall.  
  
Link was shocked. He had expected to be carted to a torture chamber, but he was walking into what seemed to be a lavish bath. It must have been a public bath, judging by the size, and a fancy one at that. To be in the middle of a desert, it was odd to see the water flow, rather than stagnate. It fed into the pool from a pipe, covered by the floor but noticeable in the bath itself, though he had no idea where it flowed out. He guessed that it was carted here from the waterfall at the base of the Gerudo fortress. The ingenuity confused him. Most Hylian houses didn't even have plumbing, and the Gerudo, when they had existed, had been technologically inferior to Hylians in every way. Their culture was, in general, inferior. They were barbarians and thieves who didn't have the skills for self-sufficiency in the same way the Hylians did.  
  
“Chain him to the wall,” Ganondorf commanded, and began to pull the nightshirt over his head without waiting to see if his command was followed. Despite his earlier statement that he expected betrayal, he seemed to have complete confidence that Ghirahim would do exactly as he was told without hesitation. This confidence was justified, as Ghirahim led Link to one of the walls, and with a flick of his wrist, the chains embedded themselves into the stone.  
  
“When you found him, did he have a whip on him?” Ganondorf asked.  
  
“Among the many artifacts he had,” Ghirahim moved his hands gracefully, and a whip appeared in a sparkle of black diamonds, “I found this, master. I recognize it. It belonged to an ancient tribe that dwelt on the surface during the God Wars. He stole it in an attempt to defeat me.”  
  
Link didn't remember that, but Shadow crossed his arms and stared intently at the weapon.  
  
“Did he use it on you?” Ganondorf asked, and Link thought he detected the slightest bit of concern in his voice.  
  
“No, master,” Ghirahim gazed at Ganondorf in admiration, “Though it humbles me that you think of my safety, I assure you that even if he had, I fear no mortal weapon. At that point I was tired of his assaults, and summoned a magical gollumn to fight him. He ripped it to shreds. I did see him use it on the surface dwellers themselves, not only to rip at their flesh, but to steal from them. He seemed to be fairly skilled.”  
  
“Take that ridiculous outfit off of him,” Ganondorf commanded, and Ghirahim did, with a snap of his fingers. His master walked slowly around the hero, and grabbed his face in one large hand. “I gave you a chance, boy,” he spoke slowly, with a calm that did not match the anger in his eyes, “I let you live. And you rejected my mercy. You twisted it, and used it to take innocent lives. I will not make the same mistake again. Do you know why I have to do this? I don't think you do.” Link glared at him, but did not pull away, and Ganondorf continued, “The soldiers you killed today had lives. They had families. They fought for me because they are tired of Hylians treating them like /beasts/. None of them tried to kill you, none of them even attacked you until you broke out of your cell and began to /slaughter/ them. You're a murderer. You're a monster.”  
  
Link's eyes narrowed. He would not be lectured by a literal demon on the subject of murder. Besides, it wasn't as if he had killed real people. He had hacked his way through a horde of moblins in an attempt to save the princess. It wasn't anything he hadn't done before, and it certainly wasn't something he would hesitate to do again. Ganondorf stared into his eyes, taking in the complete lack of fear he saw there, and eventually released his head, but Link did not let it slump.  
  
“Ghirahim, listen to me,” he said as he straightened back to his full height, “I want you to give him ten lashes, while you count them for me. When you've finished, asked him what he's done. Make him tell you /why/ he's being punished. If he admits it, stop and wait for my instructions. If he doesn't, give him another ten, and repeat the process until he can pull the answer out of that useless little mind of his. I'm going to take a bath. I expect you to have broken him before you have to make me presentable for the coronation.”  
  
“Yes, master,” Ghirahim placed one hand over the place where his heart would be, if he had one. He had transformed back into his more human form, and it did not have the same impact that he thought it would have had his diamond still been on his chest. With a smile he added, “You are going to /delight/ in watching me work, master.”  
  
Ganondorf made a low rumbling sound in his chest that implied he might have disagreed with that assessment, and turned back to Link.  
  
“You can walk away from this with ten lashes, Link,” he said, “Or he can strip the flesh from your bones. That is your choice.”  
  
The defiance in those blue eyes made Ganondorf want to look away, but his warrior's training prevented it. Instead, he shook his head.  
  
“Suit yourself.”  
  
Ganondorf disappeared from Link's line of sight, and he heard rustling, and a gentle splash. Then there was nothing but the pain. He didn't understand how he had missed the crack of the whip, and his first scream drowned out Ghirahim's voice as he calmly said, “One.”  
  
CRACK.  
Pain.  
“Two”.  
  
CRACK  
Pain.  
Blood.  
  
Link felt the skin on his back split and hated himself for the sound it dragged from him. He had always been vocal, but he wanted to keep his mouth shut, because he didn't want the satisfaction of showing them that they were hurting him. Though he supposed that they would figure it out from the blood and bruising. He planted his feet on the tile and wrapped his hands around the chains. He told himself that he would not scream again.  
  
It was a lie.  
  
Ghirahim had the rhythm of a dancer, and Link was thankful for that small miracle. He began to get a sense of when the blows would come, and was able to give himself a little preparation. He gritted his teeth and listened to the counting, trying to block out everything else. He tried to ignore the cracking of the whip, the jostling of the chains, his own panicked screams, the soft voice of the flowing water, and the conversation going on by the bath. By the /goddesses/, were they really talking about Ganondorf's /hair/ while he was being /beaten/? He swallowed down his wounded pride and took a deep breath as Ghirahim said:  
  
“Ten. Now tell me, hero, why are you being punished? Why am I, the glorious Demon Lord Ghirahim, being /forced/ to take time away from my victory and my master to deal with /you/?” he sounded angry, and his annoyance fueled Link's rage.  
  
Link's back was on fire, and he tried to channel the pain into strength. He pulled at the chains, but they stuck fast. If he could only get free, only get that whip from Ghirahim, he could probably escape, despite his wounds. He had been in worse situations. He could do this. He pulled again, and heard Ghirahim sigh.  
  
“Master,” he asked, “How long do I give him to answer.”  
  
“I don't know if he heard you,” Came Ganondorf's reply, “Mortals get blinded by pain. Ask him again. Give him a few minutes, and if he doesn't respond, treat 'no answer' as a wrong answer.”  
  
“Do you hear me, Skychild?” Ghirahim asked, “I asked you a question! Why am I hitting you?”  
  
Skychild?  
  
Link thought he knew the answer well enough. The reason that Ghirahim was hitting him was because the demon lord had a strange devotion to the Demon King, and would do anything he asked. It may also be that he was just a sadist who enjoyed hurting people. It appeared that way on the battlefield anyway. He was perfectly willing to mow down entire troops of Hylian soldiers. He had killed so many people, people Link had lived and trained with. People he had grown up with. Friends. With renewed strength, he tugged at the chains.  
  
CRACK.  
Pain.  
Scream.  
“Eleven”.  
  
Ghirahim stopped him thrice more, and Link remained silent and defiant. The pain in his back had spread throughout his entire body, and he found himself thankful for the chains that he had cursed. The blows Ghirahim had landed on his legs had caused them to top working, and he was supporting himself by cling to the chains for dear life. When he stopped again, Link pressed his face to the cold stone and struggled to stay upright. The blood from his injuries had pooled on the floor and robbed him of his traction. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thought of ice.  
  
“WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DO THIS, SKYCHILD!?” Ghirahim bellowed, and it echoed through the room, “I DEMAND YOU SPEAK!”  
  
Link shuddered. The room seemed lighter, and he realized that dawn was breaking. It had to be after five am. He remembered Ganondorf saying that he had broken out of his cell around four. But he could not imagine that it was possible to cram that much pain into a span of time a little less than an hour.  
  
“ANSWER ME!” Ghirahim grabbed him and Link hissed in pain as his hand touched the raw, exposed muscle on his shoulder. He spun him, forcing Link to look at him, and the hero stared him down. They stood like that for a few, long minutes, while the silence lingered in the air.  
  
“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf said, and Link turned his gaze to the man, who was tying a robe closed, “I'm going to my chambers to dress. If you haven't broken him by six, chain his ankles to match his wrists and leave him. I would really prefer it if I had him to show off, but if you can't do it, we'll have to prioritize. I'll give you further instructions when I see you again.”  
  
“I'll break him,” Ghirahim hissed, and snapped his arms out at their full length from his body. The gloves disappeared in a flurry of diamonds, and Link saw the darkness creeping into him. He remembered the form in the dungeon, as hard and strong as steel, and rested the back of his head against the stone wall. He closed his eyes, and wondered how much of his strength the demon had been holding back.  
  
“Don't kill him,” Ganondorf warned, and Link's eyes had shot open. Part of him, he was now realizing, had hoped that death had been the goal. He would bleed out, and the world would fade to a merciful black. But apparently that was not the plan, because Ganondorf went on, “If you run out of flesh before you run out of time, give him a red potion and let it heal before you beat it off again.”  
  
“Yes, master,” Ghirahim said, but he didn't sound happy. His breathing was ragged and he seemed not to realize that he was speaking out loud when he said, “My purpose is to follow orders. Not to question them.”  
  
Ganondorf nodded in acknowledgment and left the room. Ghirahim turned back to Link, and took a step backwards, seething. Link liked the way the exasperation tore at his features, cracked his fabulous face, and skewed his perception. Link was broken, battered, and chained, yet Ghirahim was the one losing his composure. Link smiled.  
  
“YOU MAKE ME SICK WITH ANGER!” Ghirahim screamed, and the whip caught Link across the chest, “OUTRAGED!” another welt joined the first, “FURIOUS!” the skin broke on the third strike and Link felt the blood well from the wound.  
  
“FIFTY ONE,” Ghirahim shrieked.  
 _Fifty-Three_ , Link thought, and enjoyed the idea that Ghirahim had lost so much of his mental functioning to his rage that he couldn't even count.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left with few options, Links decides to try Shadow's plan. He'll pretend to be a model prisoner so he can gain the trust of his captors, then betray that trust to escape.

Ghirahim was fuming when the clock struck six, and sunlight streamed in through the windows. He let out a pained shriek and surveyed Link, who's chest was as broken as his back.

 

“You _will_ tell me why I wasted my _entire_ morning on you, Skychild,” Ghirahim hissed and gave the whip a crack to accentuate his point, “You have made a _powerful_ enemy.”

 

Link gasped in pain at the final blow and said nothing, though the sudden change from screaming to this cold, calculated anger unnerved him. He shook when Ghirahim grabbed his hair and yanked him backward, forcing him to meet his eye, and watched as they shifted. The white fell away as a slit appeared and spread, until they were neatly divided into pupil, iris, and scalara, and it was disturbing to watch.

 

“Little human,” Ghirahim leaned down until their faces were nearly touching, “I make this promise to you, right now. You will regret this night for the rest of your life.”

 

He bent at the waist, and ran that long, snake-like tongue over Link's splintered chest. When he stood again, Link could see the blood coating it as he pulled it back inside a mouth that was too small to contain it, and for the first time, he knew fear. He was helpless. No armor. No weapons. And it finally sank into his mind that this creature was a  _ demon _ , capable of devouring his very soul, held back not by empathy or decency, but by the whim of Ganondorf, a monster who hated Link with every fiber of his being because of an ancient feud.

 

Ghirahim released him, and the chains on his wrists pulled taunt. Link hissed in a breath as he felt a similar set latch onto his ankles and yank his feet apart until he was spread-eagled to the wall. Though Ganondorf had not asked for it, something clasped around his neck, and he strained as it tightened. He could only draw shallow breaths, and he saw bright dots, clouding his vision. He strained against the bonds, because he had to get this  _ thing _ off his throat, but they stuck tight.

 

Ghirahim studied him, flicked his wrist, and life-giving oxygen flooded the heroes lungs. He coughed, and every spasm sent a wave of pain through his shattered body, ripping open old wounds and spreading the fresh ones. Ghirahim smiled.

 

“While I'm gone,” he advised, and snapped his fingers, which caused his gloves and robe to appear in a flurry of diamonds, “I want you to think about what you've done, and how you're going to apologize to me and my master. I would so hate to kill you, Skychild. It would be such a waste. But you're proving to be more trouble than you're worth.”

 

Link had more or less gotten his breathing under control, and watched the demon closely, trying to formulate his next move. It seemed that the shadow creature had been right. He couldn't break his bonds. His only hope of escape was somehow convincing these  _ creatures  _ that he could be trusted, and then betraying that trust to find his sword and slaughter them all. He wasn't particularly good at manipulation. He wasn't even particularly good at normal conversation. He had difficulty talking and tried to avoid it whenever he could. He couldn't even speak to people he liked. He took a deep breath. He had to make this work. He had to focus, to ignore his seizing muscles and the cold dread in his stomach.

 

“Ghirahim?” he asked in a small voice.  
  
“Yes, Skychild?” Ghirahim hid his alarm well. He seemed, for all the world, as if he were bored. He didn't dare crack the smile he wanted to show.

 

“I'm sorry,” Link closed his eyes as he spoke. He would have looked at the floor if he were able to move his head, but the collar kept him pinned to the wall.

 

“For?” Ghirahim asked impatiently.

 

_ Shit _ . What was he supposed to say? Ganondorf had spelled out exactly what he wanted to hear, but it had been hours ago and Link had been high on adrenaline and courage, and it was impossible to remember. He willed his heart to stop racing, willed his mind to slow down, and tried to pull that conversation from the either. Moblins. He was sorry he killed moblins.

 

“For killing those creatures and trying to save the queen,” Link finished, tripping over his words and speaking more quickly than he intended. He added, because he thought it was what Ghirahim wanted to hear, “And for taking you away from your master. I know you love him.”

 

Ghirahim regarded him with interest. He stood in the same spot, arms crossed and one eyebrow arched, and Link held his breath as he awaited his decision.

 

“Skychild,” Ghirahim said, “That is the most I have _ever_ heard you speak. If it weren't for the fact that my master would never assign me an impossible task, I would have thought you incapable. You're right. I don't know if you're _sincere_ , but you're _right_.”

 

He disappeared in a flurry of diamonds, and Link's eyes widened. He let out a shout. No! Where did he go and why!? He had done exactly what they wanted! Ghirahim should have freed him! He struggled against the chains and choked himself again, so learned quickly not to do that. His entire body was cut and bruised and bleeding, and his muscles were so weak that it was easier to just let the bonds support him than it was to try to struggle. He hadn't slept at all, and weariness was threatening to overtake him.  
  
Ghirahim appeared in Ganondorf's chambers to see Zant halfway through rolling his hair into a traditional Gerudo headpiece. The Tiara sat on Ganondorf's forehead, and a Hylian crown could easily fit above it. He was plain-faced, obviously waiting for Ghirahim, but the demon believed that his master needed no adornment. He could see the spirit of Demise within him, and it shone more beautifully than any mortal glamour.   
  
“Master,” he bowed.

 

“Thank Din, Ghirahim, can you get the other side of my head? Zant isn't used to this.” Ganondorf looked at him through the mirror.

 

“I am unaccustomed to vanity,” Zant explained sadly, “The Twill hide our hair under masks. Our beauty comes from artistry.”

 

'Of course, master,” Ghirahim purred, and snapped at Zant like a wild dog.  
  
“What?” Zant asked in genuine fear.  
  
“The rolls should be _tight_ , you idiot! He's a Gerudo with the mane of a majestic beast, not the limp lifeless _mop_ you- just move! I'll redo everything!” Ghirahim shoved him out of the way, and Zant stood in the spot he had been shoved to and pouted.  
  
“I did the best I could,” He explained, “I told you I was unfamiliar with-”

 

“Don't _touch_ my master again,” Ghirahim warned.

 

“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf spoke volumes in that one word, and waited a beat before he continued, “I asked him to help. How's the hero?”

 

“Oh, he apologized exactly as you asked,” Ghirahim began to hum as he worked, and he was correct in his assessment of Zant's abilities, meaning that he would have to redo everything. “I left him chained to the wall.”  
  
“Apologize for snapping at Zant,” Ganondorf demanded, “I know you're stressed, but he's a valuable member of this unit, and you will _not_ pretend to tell me who I can and cannot touch.”

 

Ghirahim paled, stepped back and bowed, “You're right, master. I was out of line. Zant, I'm sorry. I've had a rough night, and it has awoken my bloodlust. I'm sure you did the best you could.”  
  
“I will have no more dissent in my ranks after what happened with the picori,” Ganondorf explained, and settled in as Ghirahim went back to styling his hair, “Everyone is going to get along. Ghirahim, you need to work on your attitude, but I am proud of you for breaking the hero.”

 

“Thank you, master,” Ghirahim purred, and Ganondorf tried not to grimace as he watched his face contort in pleasure in the mirror.  
  
“Zant, take Volga and retrieve the hero. Heal his wounds, but not his strength, and bring him to me.” Ganondorf commanded, and Zant bowed slightly, with a smile tugging at his lips.

 

“Yes, master,” he said, and added, as if an afterthought, “You know, Ghirahim, if you're serious about improving your attitude, I think that a lot of it may be pent up anger. I used to have the same issues. You should try yoga. I could teach you.”

 

“What the hell,” Ghirahim asked in irritation, “Is yoga?”

 

“It's all that bendy stuff he does,” Ganondorf answered, “You probably would actually like it. With your lithe little dancer body. Go on, Zant.”  
  
“Yes, master,” Zant repeated, and took his leave.  
  
Ghirahim hummed as he worked, nimble fingers sliding expertly through Ganondorf's thick hair, corralling it into tight curls and setting them in place in the tiara. He didn't jump as the crack in reality split the wall and two men appeared, like chalk drawings on the wall of the room. They popped off into fully formed people, and the rift sealed behind them.  
  
“Great king Ganondorf,” Yuga exclaimed, and jerked the man beside him into a bow, “Such a pleasure to see you!”

 

“Can you _not_ ,” the man beside him jerked back so quickly that his hood flew back, and for an instant everyone caught a glimpse of his face. He recovered quickly and threw it back over his head. “You know I don't do royalty.”  
  
“You will respect my father, Ravio,” Yuga glared at him, “He's worked so hard for this.”

 

“You got 'respect my father' money?” Ravio asked, holding out his hand.  
  
“You have a _son_?” Ghirahim asked, enraptured.  
  
“No,” Ganondorf said simply, but Yuga spoke over him.  
  
“Who is _this_?” He asked, eyes wide and face contorted into a look of pure bliss, “You are _gorgeous_ ,” He walked around Ghirahim, examining him and touching his cloak, “I love the hair, the make-up, the earring, the _outfit_ , everything about you is breathtaking. I _have_ to paint you. I may go mad if I don't.”

 

“I like him,” Ghirahim smiled.

 

“This is Demon Lord Ghirahim,” Ganondorf explained, “He's a general, and close personal friend of mine. He captured the hero. Stop annoying him.”  
  
Ghirahim giggled and went back to fixing Ganondorf's hair, while Yuga continued to gape at him. Ravio leaned against the wall in apparent contemplation before he asked, “You captured the hero? The legendary hero?”

 

“Yes,” Ghirahim smiled, “For my master. He's been a thorn in his side for centuries. He needed to be removed.”  
  
Yuga pulled out a sketch pad and began to work, staring at Ghirahim for long spans of time, then glancing at the pad, then staring again.  
  
“So where is he now?” Ravio asked, serendipitously, because at that instant Volga came into the room dragging the man behind him and threw him to the ground.

 

Zant came trailing behind, and Link groaned in pain and pushed himself onto his hands and knees, before taking a resting position with his knees tucked under him and his hands in his lap. He was pretty sure that everyone had forgotten his nudity, but he would have killed for a cloak. Hell, he'd settle for a sheet to wrap around himself. He had scars covering his entire body in crisscrosses, but they had healed enough that they were no longer open wounds, indicating that someone had given him some sort of healing potion, and had washed away the blood. He looked nervously around the room, but his eyes lingered on the rabbit hood against the wall. Ravio seemed to pay him no particular attention.  
  
“I want him dressed as a captured Voe,” Ganondorf turned to face Link, and he looked imposing and intimidating, even in his half-done up state, “I want to bring him on stage with me for the coronation. I want those Hylias to see their little hero in chains, in slave garb.”  
  
“Is that wise?” Shadow had appeared, and stepped beside Link, who kept his head down, looking at the floor, “What if he tries to escape again? He'll have so many allies.”  
  
“I'm not letting the hero out of my sight,” Ganondorf snarled at him, “And I don't know what you're playing at, but I know you're up to something.”

 

“Vaati has made you paranoid,” Shadow rolled his eyes, “And it's going to bite you in the ass.”

 

“Speaking of Vaati!” Zant bounced excitedly, and pulled a cage from the either with his magical abilities, “Look! I made a terrarium! It's got little plants and a cushion for a bed and little hiding spots! You know, to simulate what he's used to.”  
  
“He's not a mouse,” Shadow explained, “The picori have a complex society. He didn't get dumber.”  
  
“I don't think he's an animal,” Zant explained calmly, “It's a prison, not a palace. It's supposed to break his spirit.”

 

“You guys are dicks,” Shadow huffed.  
  
“He's a betrayer and a rapist,” Zant countered, “He deserves what he gets. And the sides are smooth, so he can't climb out.”  
  
“Zant,” Ganondorf was grinning, “That. Is. Hilarious. Put him in there.”  
  
Ghirahim summoned the crystal while Zant pulled back the lid. He held it above the enclosure, and it dissipated in a flash, so that Vaati fell, flailing and scrambling, onto the piles of branches Zant had arranged.

 

“Master!” he called, and even Link turned to look, “Please! Set me free and I will find the queen! I will make this right! I swear it on my life!”  
  
“You know what I wish we had,” Ghirahim mused, “Those little wheels that people put in cages for mice.” He thought for a second, then snapped his fingers, conjuring one, “This. Put this in there.”  
  
Zant opened the lid again and Ghirahim placed the wheel inside, and they both laughed. Zant held the small enclosure up to his face and looked inside.

 

“He's actually kind of cute like this,” he said, “He's so small and innocent.”  
  
“Keep him here, in my chambers,” Ganondorf commanded, clearing space on his vanity, “I want to look at him so I can decide what to do with him.” He settled himself back down, and Ghirahim immediately stepped up to finish his hair, while Volga stood, silently staring at Link, who had not really moved.  
  
“There is a Voe outfit that should fit him in that chest,” Ganondorf indicated, spinning on the seat as Ghirahim indicated, as he began the process of the traditional Gerudo make-up, “Get him dressed and chained.”  
  
Link looked over, expecting something terrible, but Zant was pulling out what appeared to be a pair of pants and a complex looking set of sandals. They certainly weren't Link's style, but they were a fair step above no clothes, and not something that he would expect to see on a slave. They were actually flattering, low cut and attractive. As Volga hauled him to his feet, he allowed Zant to dress him, wordlessly, and was amazed at how little the thing looked like a slave outfit, which is what he assumed it was. It was clipped together with golden leg braces, which could be chained, and a belt with an ice crystal set in it, which suddenly made the desert heat much more bearable. His old chains were replaced with golden manacles, which could have been mistaken for bracelets, and he froze as Zant clipped a collar around his neck.  
  
Ganondorf pushed Ghirahim aside gently and stood. He waved his hand, and an orange stone in a silver setting appeared in his palm. He walked up to Link, and though the hero tried his best to show his submission and sell the idea that he was willing to be a model prisoner, he forgot to pretend to shrink back in fear, and watched Ganondorf with his back straight and his eyes steady.

 

Ganondorf held the jewel so that Link could see it, and asked, “Do you know what this is?” The hero shook his head, so Ganondorf explained, “This is a Gerudo artifact, used to control particularly difficult prisoners. With this, we have the option of keeping men alive for their genes, instead of being forced to put an arrow through their head if they keep trying to escape. Hold still while I put this on you, hero.”

 

Link took a step back. Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of his mind, a name sprang forth. _Nabooru_. He stepped into Volga, and the Dragon Knight held him as Ganondorf placed the jewel on his forehead. Link swung wildly, trying to shake it free, but he felt an intense heat spreading from the jewel, and suddenly, his body went limp.  
  
“Stand up,” Ganondorf commanded, and Link stood, pulling free of Volga's grasp. “Now go sit on the bed,” Ganondorf continued, and Link actively tried to remain where he was while his body walked, and sat on Ganondorf's bed.  
  
“What the actual fuck, Gan!?” Shadow was livid, “If you had that, why are you just using it now!? You didn't have to beat him at all! You could have kept him from escaping when we first captured him!”

 

“Mm,” Ganondorf made a noncommittal sound and sat so Ghirahim could apply the gold leaf to his eyelids, “I suppose I could have."  He smiled, "But I wanted to see him break.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And here is a weapon that can penetrate the Evil King's defenses... The power given to the chosen ones... The sacred Arrow of Light!!!" — Princess Zelda: Ocarina of Time

“I don't care what you do to me!” The Priest steadied himself, “There is nothing in heaven or earth that would force me to perform the coronation of a demon.”

  
Ghirahim put a hand to his chest in an attempt to control the offense welling within him, but Ganondorf merely stared down at the priest. Even at his full height, the man was still a Hylian, and regardless of body language, any Gerudo would tower over him. Ganondorf, to his credit, looked absolutely gorgeous after hours of preparation, and carried himself with the air of the king he was. Link stood with the rest of his entourage, unchained, but held in place by the magic emanating from the gem on his forehead. He longed more than anything to break free, to find a way to let the priest know that he agreed with him. There was no way that Ganondorf could be crowned, not in the sacred Temple of Time, not in front of a crowd. Not in front of the goddesses. It was blasphemy. It would curse them all.  
  
“You Hylians,” Ganondorf sneered, “You dare call  _ me  _ a demon? The chosen one? The avatar of the mighty goddess Din? Chosen by the gods themselves to lead this land?  _ Sacrilege _ .”

 

“No goddess has ever touched such a dark heart,” The priest retorted, and the defiance in his voice was thick enough to change the atmosphere in the room.

 

Link averted his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the walls of the palace. Moblins were taking down the royal's family artwork and putting up the pieces that Yuga had supplied. He couldn't bare to look at the priest. He couldn't bear the knowledge that Ganondorf was able to say those things with such conviction because they were... true.

 

Ganondorf, for his part, made no witty rejoinder. Instead, he smiled, and held up his right hand. Link covered his left because, just as he thought, they both began to glow, as the holy symbols appeared. He wasn't sure whether Ganondorf saw him, or if he was just proving his point, but he winced as his body began to move at his command.

 

“Link,” Ganondorf said without looking at him, “Step forward until you're standing at my right hand, and show the priest your sacred mark. I want him to be able to compare them.”

 

Link did this against his will, and closed his eyes. He let his head fall forward in shame until his chin rested on his chest, and held that position, since he could do nothing else.  
  
“Din's fire,” The priests eyes were wide, and his tone was reverent, “But... how? The triforce... the mark of the gods...”

 

“Because I have been chosen by the goddess Din to bring Hyrule into a new age of prosperity,” Ganondorf explained, and Link willed the tears not to leak down his cheeks, “I was chosen for this task _centuries_ ago, but I was never allowed to fulfill my destiny because there were constantly interlopers in my way. But now,” he looked at his hand and smiled, “Now I will finally be allowed my proper place. I will rule by divine right, and make good use of the power I have been given. I will unite all of Hyrule under my might, and usher in this new age with the blessings of the gods, and the people. No longer will anyone be pushed away, not to the desert to starve, not to the Twilight to corrupt, not to the dark world to fall prey to its demonic influences. Hyrule will become a beacon of hope.”

 

The tears fell.  
  
The priest drew his eyes away from the symbol glowing on Ganondorf's hand and seemed to consider his words.

 

“Parhaps,” he said quietly, “You would be more comfortable with a gerudo priest-”

 

“WHERE WOULD I FIND ONE!?” Ganondorf shouted, and Link felt the very foundations of the castle rock, “Our temple has been destroyed, our town lies in ruins, and my people are DEAD- at the hands of you Hylian dogs. Killed because we dared ask for that which was rightfully ours! Genocidal-” He seemed to calm as Ghirahim gently placed a hand on his back and made soothing noises. He took a deep breath, and the fire in his eyes extinguished.  
  
“Are you scared of demons, priest?” Ghirahim asked, “Do we frighten you?” He cocked his head to one side and licked his lips, and Link shuddered. “I would prefer not to see my master disrespected in his own home. Perhaps you cannot understand reason. Perhaps fear is a better motivator.”  
  
“That's enough,” Ganondorf put one broad hand on his chest and pushed Ghirahim from the priest, “I told you I didn't want any dramatics.”  
  
Ghirahim respected Ganondorf too much to voice the protests that he felt. He wanted to tell him that he hadn't done anything, that he wasn't planning on doing anything, that he had only meant to frighten the little human. Instead he stepped back and said nothing.  
  
“You realize that you will see many more demons,” Ganondorf explained, “If you refuse me? I have been chosen for a reason, and as a priest, your duty is to obey the goddesses, not to question them.”  
  
The priest had no response. He was trapped. He could not understand how a man like Ganondorf, a murderer, a usurper, a _Gerudo_ , could ever have been chosen by the gods, and yet he could not deny the evidence in front of him. Instead, he hung his head in defeat, sighed, and looked at Link, who was still standing tall with his left hand raised, silently weeping.  
  
“Hero?” He asked, but as usual, Link said nothing.  
  
* * *

 

“Link,” Ganondorf said as they stood backstage in the temple, and he jerked his head up, “You are to protect me, do you understand? If anyone attempts to harm me in any way, you are to prevent it. I want these Hylians to see their previous hero is completely under my control. Try to look like you're doing it willingly” He smiled and Link narrowed his eyes at him, so he continued, “Repeat your instructions back to me.”

 

Link's eyes widened and panic seized him. He grabbed his throat as his stomach tightened and his mouth opened of its own accord.  
  
“I will protect you with my life, master,” he heard himself say, then he doubled over as the nerves overcame him. He fell to the ground as his muscles seized, though he didn't understand why.  
  
“Goddamn it, Gan!” Shadow knelt beside him and cupped his face in his hands, “Why!? Why would you do that!?” He ran his thumbs in smooth, comforting motions, “Link. Link look at me. You're disassociating. You're having a panic attack.” He jerked his gaze back to Ganondorf, “He can't _do_ this! He can't swear loyalty to you and betray everything he loves. He's not super stable. It's going to fucking kill him!”  
  
“Let him die if he wants,” Ghirahim shrugged, “Why does that get to him so bad? He didn't get that bitchy the entire time I was whipping him.”

 

“Oh, by the gods, he's not _bitchy_ , you asshole!” Shadow released Link's face and let the hero fall to his hands and knees, where he glared up at Ganondorf, “He's going _mad_.”  
  
“I've gone mad before,” Ganondorf mused, “Gone all the way through and come out the other side. It'll be good for him. Link, stop acting like a fool. Breath. Collect yourself and stand. I want you by my side.”  
  
Link felt his chest unseize as he took slow, measured breaths. He felt his lungs expanding, until he thought that they would burst, then contracting until he was sure he was suffocating. After a few seconds, the cycle evened out, and he was able to stand.  
  
“Was that so hard?” Ganondorf asked, and Link looked away, so he went on, “Try doing it when you've been beaten, betrayed, watched your parents and everyone you loved die, and just transformed against your will into a giant pig. It's not _fun_.”

 

Link had absolutely no response to that, and hoped that he would be allowed to just stand where he was and stare off into space.  
  
“Oh master,” Ghirahim looked heartbroken, “To think of everything you've been through... all that these monsters put you through... I don't understand why you won't just let me destroy them.”  
  
“I don't know why you don't understand it,” Ganondorf snapped at him like a wild dog, but Ghirahim didn't seem insulted or frightened, “I've explained it to you multiple times! I tried that already. Every idea you've ever had, you petulant  _ brat _ , I've already tried a thousand times over. Stop bothering me with stupidity.”  
  
Ghirahim looked heartbroken. He stared up at Ganondorf with tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and finally said, “You're right. I'm sorry master. I'm sorry for everything. I don't mean to keep bothering you.”  
  
Ganondorf shoved him away and Ghirahim watched as he walked to the curtain separating them from the crowd waiting in the temple. Shadow and Zant exchanged a glance, looked to Ghirahim, then back to each other. Shadow mouthed 'say something', and Zant looked panicked. Shadow shrugged, and Zant took off his mask, because he thought he could connect better, socially, with non-Twil if they could look into his eyes.  
  
“Ghirahim?” He asked, and the demon snapped in his direction with unnatural speed, “Don't cry before the ceremony. I know how important your make-up is to you, after how upset you got this morning.”  
  
“Why the hell,” Ghirahim asked, “Would I  _ cry _ ?”

 

“I don't know,” Zant replied, because he didn't. He wasn't very good at understanding social interactions, and was more used to commanding than talking to friends. He hadn't even really had friends before his resurrection, only people who believed in his cause. He wasn't good at reading people, because he had never had to develop that skill. But he liked Ghirahim, they shared the same goals, drew power from the same source, worshiped the same god. 

 

No. That wasn't right. Ghirahim didn't treat Ganondorf with the same reverence Zant did. He didn't treat him as a source of power to be worshiped and feared. Ghirahim didn't treat him like the god he was. Ghirahim was always hanging all over him and complimenting him and embarrassing himself.  
  
“You would cry,” Zant said, proud of himself for figuring it out, “Because the master doesn't love you!”  
  
Ghirahim stared at him, trying to process the audacity the Twill had, that would allow him to say something like that, while Link stepped away from what he was sure was going to be a fight, and Shadow covered his face with a hand in disbelief. Ghirahim's eyes were wild, though he was obviously trying to contain himself, and cracks were appearing in his flesh.  
  
“How dare you,” Ghirahim asked, and his voice vibrated. He realized what he was doing, glanced at Ganondorf, and lowered his voice, “How dare you say that to me? How  _ dare  _ you speak those words, those  _ lies _ ?”

 

“Ghirahim,” Shadow stepped between them with his arms raised, “Please, try to calm down. Gan doesn't want you to freak out.”  
  
“I'M NOT FREAKING OUT!”

 

“Why the hell are you freaking out?” Ganondorf asked, so close behind Ghirahim that when the demon straightened he bumped into him, “Have you lost your mind? I asked _one_ thing of you, demon. Control yourself for the duration of the ceremony. That's _all_ I ask of you, yet you badger me with inane questions and shriek like an _animal_. That crowd can hear you!”  
  
“I'm sorry, master!” Ghirahim pointed as Zant, “But it's his fault! He said-”  
  
“I don't care what he said,” Ganondorf growled, “I don't care what happens. You will _not_ embarrass me again today. This is my coronation! Everything _will_ be perfect.”  
  
“I'm sorry master,” Ghirahim's shoulders slumped, and he looked up at Ganondorf with eyes that could melt the hearts of most creatures, but the demon king seemed unaffected, “I want everything to go perfectly for you. I want you to be happy.”  
  
“I'll be happy,” Ganondorf explained, “If you shut the fuck up. Just stand there and look pretty for a few hours. No screaming. No murder. Can you do that? Because if you can't, I want you to go back to the Gerudo fortress.”  
  
“I can, master, I swear it on my life!” Ghirahim grabbed his dress robes, realized what he was doing, and smoothed them back out. “I'm sorry, master.”  
  
“I really wish,” Shadow whispered to Zant, “That he would just toss him a pity fuck.”  
  
Zant stared down at him in confusion and Shadow hastily added, “Never mind, never mind.” In an attempt not to draw attention to themselves.  
  
“Your majesty,” A guard entered and bowed, “The ceremony is about to begin.”  
  
* * *  
  
Link stood behind Ganondorf with the rest of his minions, but he did not look at the crowd. Instead, he turned his eyes skyward, and preyed to Feore for the courage to make it through this ceremony without having a fucking heart attack. He was actually feeling much better than he thought he would. He didn't think he would be able to stand at all after the night he had been through, not with the added stress of his charade. He thought that the magic powering the crystal must be regulating his body somehow, because he had become completely relaxed after Ganondorf told him to.  
  
Ghirahim and Zant had regained their composure after the fight, and we both standing tall and proud in their positions, while Ganondorf stood before them all, looking perfectly regal as the priest spoke.  
  
“Great Ganondorf Dragmire, the chosen child of the goddess Din, bearer of the Triforce of Power,” He spoke with the reverence he couldn't possibly have felt, “It is my great honor today, to ask you to lead the kingdom of Hyrule. You have proven yourself worthy in the ancient Hylian method of Right by Combat, and established yourself with an undeniable Divine Right. Will you accept?”  
  
“I will,” Ganondorf replied, and knelt before the priest.  
  
The priest took the crown that had been offered by his attendant, and held it aloft.  
  
“Noble King Dragmire,” He began, “May the goddesses grant you the power to lead with honor and dignity, even in trying times. May they grant you the courage to persevere, through peace and war, plenty and famine, safety and danger. And may they grant you the wisdom to make sound decisions, delegate sagely, and bring about prosperity in your reign.”  
  
He lowered the crown, and the crowd gasped as Link leaped over his back. The hero hit the ground, rolled, and stood, clutching a glowing, magical arrow.  
  
“A light arrow!” Ghirahim hissed, “Who shot that!? Where did it come from.”  
  
Ganondorf stood, pushing the crown onto his head as he did so, and began issuing commands as if he had been born to do so, “Barricade the doors! No one gets in or out until everyone has been searched! Sir Link, excellent work, return to my side!”  
  
Link scurried to join him on the platform, still clutching the arrow.  
  
“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf commanded, “Can you take that arrow and trace it back to the archer?”  
  
Ghirahim held out his hand and took it from Link, and made no sound as it began to eat away at his flesh. He closed his eyes to concentrate, but Ganondorf noticed the smoke and asked, “What the hell are you doing? Is that hurting you?”  
  
“It's holy magic,” Ghirahim explained, “I'm a demon. But it's fine. I'll find the culprit.”  
  
“Ghirahim _drop the goddamn thing before it eats away your hand_ ,” Ganondorf commanded in exasperation, and the demon did. His glove had burned away, and there was a deep gash in the palm of his hand when Ganondorf grabbed it, “You _idiot_. You compliance almost cost me my best general.”  
  
“Your best general?” Ghirahim asked, smiling widely, but Ganondorf ignored him as Zant and Shadow took either of his arms.

 

“Master,” Zant explained, “We need to get you somewhere safe. The assassin is locked in with us.”  
  
“Right,” Ganondorf agreed, “Link. Come on.”  
  
The hero had been staring at the crowd. He had seen her. Him? He had seen the archer. It was a shieka, a young man with his long blond hair pulled into a loose braid and his face covered in bandages. 

 

He turned at the command and followed Ganondorf backstage.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/79/4d/5a/794d5a391c88109faee436fa7949f7e1.jpg

Ravio had somehow magically disappeared when it came time for Ghirahim to teleport the Demon King and his enterague to the coronation. He had slipped into the shadows because he felt that his time would be better spent searching the giant fortress of a wealthy king and his horde than it would be handing supplies to Yuga. He hummed quietly as he made his way through the fortress, but the place seemed to be in a state of disrepair so severe that it was almost unbelievable that any king could live there.

 

One room, however, was fiercely guarded by a fire breathing dragon, who had taken human form to more easily fit within the hall, and it was there that Ravio assumed the vast hordes of treasure were kept. He had no desire to actually fight a dragon, since he wasn't stupid and didn't want to become any creature's dinner, so he pressed his back to the wall, and using the magic Yuga had gifted him with, merged with it.  
  
He slid along the two dimensional surface quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. He had read somewhere that dragons had difficulty with flat objects anyway, which is why most of the art to come out of their culture was carved, rather than painted, but he had no idea if this were true or one of the many racist legends that the Hylians of all dimensions seemed to spread, so he took great pains to avoid Volga's line of sight.  
  
He slipped through the crack in the doorway, and emerged in a sitting room. It was in much better repair, and was considerably better furnished than the rest of the fortress, so he figured that he was at least on the right track to find anything valuable. He popped off the wall and began to look around. There were no chests, but the bookcase was of some interest. He took out one of the volumes and flipped through it, but it was in a language he didn't understand. He was familiar with Hylian, ancient Hylian, and had a basic knowledge of Twil, though he could not say that he was fluent, but this language eluded him. It was possible that some Lorulian historian would pay good money for books in an unknown language, but as he considered the possibility, he heard screaming.

 

It was high pitched and shrill, not the screaming of something dangerous, so he followed it. The sound was coming from an open doorway that led into a bedroom, the bedroom he recognized as the one he had come to this dimension through last night. The portal still cracked open the wall, glowing with dark magic, and he smiled at it. Yuga was wasted as an artist. His real talent lay in magics.

 

The screaming was coming from the small creature in the terrarium, and Ravio tried to remember who or what the thing was. When the generals were discussing it, his attention had been on their captive. He had been unable to look away from the scarred, beaten man, because something about him struck a chord deep in Ravio's soul. He felt a connection, though he couldn't say what it was. The man on the floor had been trying, Ravio believed, to pretend submission that he didn't really feel. He tried to keep his head down and his body language drawn in, but there were moments, if he was distracted, where he would forget, tense up, and seem to be looking for a fight. The man had a lot of fight in him, but not, it seemed, much sense.

 

“Kid!” The creature in the cage was saying and pounding on the glass, “Kid!”

 

“Ravio,” Ravio replied, watching him from under his hood.  
  
“Ravio! Let me out of here!” The creature demanded with far more authority than it had, and Ravio cocked an eyebrow at the audacity.

 

“You got 'Ravio let me out of here' money?” He asked, watching with one hand on his hip and the other outstretched toward the terrarium.

 

“Listen to me, boy,” The creature narrowed it's tiny eyes and stared him down, “I am Vaati, the most skilled mage of all Piccori, and you will free me from this prison.”  
  
“So no,” Ravio surmised, and turned to leave.  
  
“Wait!” The tiny creature called, and Ravio looked to him again, “Yes! Yes I can pay you! I know where the treasures are kept. Let me out and I will take you to a horde of ancient artifacts! They are priceless!”  
  
Ravio shrugged. The thing was so tiny and fragile that if it were lying to him he could easily squish it, and if it were telling the truth, he would be a fool not to take him up on the offer. He lifted the lid, reached inside, and grabbed the creature by it's robe.  
  
“Start talking,” He smiled.  
  
* * *  
  
“Well,” Ganondorf explained, once they were safely backstage, “I did expect something like this, so it's no shock. Those Hylian dogs would rather die than serve a Gerudo.”  
  
He was sitting beside Ghirahim, who seemed to be on top of the world with glee. The glove on his bad hand had been discarded in a flash of diamonds, and Ganondorf was rubbing a thick red substance over the scar burned into his palm while Ghirahim shuddered under his gentle touch.  
  
“I may not be the king those pretentious monsters want,” Ganondorf's voice had dropped a full octave as he began to wind the bandages over Ghirahim's hand, carefully wrapping between his fingers with the ease of someone used to bandaging wounds, “But I will be the king they deserve.”  
  
Link sat with his back to the couch they were sitting on, in the same position Ganondorf had told them to take when they had tucked themselves safely away. He was staring off into space, thinking about the Shieka boy. Girl? He was pretty sure it was a man, a youth, without the fully developed body of adulthood. That would explain the androgyny. He had a feeling of dejavu, as if he knew the assassin, but he couldn't place him. Maybe if he weren't so tired he would be able to think. He was exhausted after the sleep deprivation and torture, and hadn't realized that he had fallen asleep until he jerked awake.  
  
Ganondorf's hand was in his hair, stroking him as if he were a pet, and his first response was blind rage. He tried to jerk away and attack, but the grip on his hair tightened, and he was still so very tired that all he succeeded in doing was hurting himself. He gasped in pain and Ganondorf paused mid-sentence to speak to him.  
  
“Stop resisting all the damn time,” He said, scowling down at Link, and instantly the tension left Link's body and he relaxed into the strokes, “And you won't get hurt.”  
  
“A Hylian,” Ghirahim was saying, “I'm absolutely positive that the arrow was shot by a Hylian woman. I'm so sorry that that's all I can tell you, master. I dropped it so quickly that I wasn't able to get a good reading. I've failed you again.”  
  
“That's half the kingdom,” Ganondorf's grip in Link's hair tightened, but the man on the floor offered no resistance, “But at least we know what we're looking for.”  
  
“Master,” Zant stepped through the curtain and bowed, “The search is complete. The guards swear up and down that they allowed no one with a weapon inside the temple, and their search found no arrows. However, I detected something myself. Before I threw up the wards to prevent escape, someone cast Farore's Wind. What is even stranger, is that I detected it was cast from the rafters.”  
  
“Well, we aren't stupid,” Ganondorf hissed, “I believe we all knew who it was. Zelda is still trying to kill me. When I see Vaati again, I will crush him under my boot.”  
  
“Great King Ganondorf?” Yuga stepped up and bowed before straightening, “Are we still going to the banquet? I planned to start my sketches there, against the backdrop of your new castle.”  
  
“Of course,” Ganondorf huffed, “One little assassination attempt is no reason to cancel a great party. Remember, the first step to any murder is to have fun and be yourself.”

 

“The party isn't truly under way until we have arrived,” Zant proclaimed happily and Ghirahim stared at him.

 

“Do you mean, 'the party don't start till I walk in'?” Ghirahim asked, exasperated.

 

“That doesn't sound right,” Zant mused to himself, “But either way I want to rummage through the Hylian wine cellars!”  
  
Ghirahim stood, looking much happier. He seemed to have forgotten their fight completely, or decided to forgive and forget, because he playfully bumped Zant with his hip and began to hum. He snapped the fingers of his good hand and a new glove appeared, which he slowly, painfully slowly, slid onto his hand as he danced. He gripped the opening with his teeth and pulled it down his arm, locking eyes with Ganondorf.  
  
Link had absolutely no idea why he was doing that in the least efficient way possible, but he felt Ganondorf's hand tighten in his hair again.  
  
“Link,” Ganondorf jerked him up, forcing him to look into his eyes, “You're still on bodyguard duty. You are to protect me from all threats. You've done well so far.”  
  
“Yes master,” Link felt himself say, and his stomach tightened again. He put a hand over it to keep from doubling over in pain like he had last time, and Ganondorf sighed.  
  
“It gets easier,” he promised, and Link did not understand the warmth in his voice.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NOhJuLV2Sw
> 
> Hylian Party/Demon Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't reread or edit this because I'm really fucking sleepy like I am falling asleep as I type. I'll try to do that when I wake up.

Link didn't like where he was positioned for the banquet.

 

It was a stupid thing to complain about, trivial, pretentious, and he hated himself for thinking it, but he absolutely did not like where he was seated. Gannondorf was flanked by his generals, Ghirahim at his right hand, and Zant at his left. Anyone who had any goddamn sense at all, would have put the bodyguard on the other side of the table if they weren't eating with the vanquished enemy (which they weren't) so he could watch his back. Instead, Gannondorf had seated him to Ghirahim's right, which made the job he felt compelled to do far more difficult than it needed to be. Yuga was sitting where he should be sitting, which was equally stupid, because there was a window behind them, meaning that they would be too backlit to sketch properly.

 

Plus Ghirahim was getting on his goddamn nerves. He hated him probably the most out of all his captors. Not just because he was the one who had captured him, not just because he was the one who had beaten him, but because his personality was grating and annoying on top of the fact that he was a horrible person. Gannondorf and Zant were horrible people as well, but they weren't loud, they didn't screech in his ear, and they didn't flail around in his personal space while he was trying to both eat and keep an eye out for assassins.

 

Ghirahim was telling some story that he had zoned out in the middle of- he didn't seem to eat, Link noted- about something that happened in the past. Link didn't care what he was talking about, but when Ghirahim threw a hand around his shoulder and pulled him closer to emphasize some stupid point in the story, Link had reached his limit. He knew that he didn't have the fortitude to actually _say_ anything about his awful behavior, but he had lived long enough without words to know how to get his point across. He lifted his wine glass as if he were going to take a drink, quickly changed directions, and threw the liquid right in Ghirahim's smug face.

 

The table fell silent.

 

Ghirahim touched his hair as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. He was unable to process the sheer stupidity of the act. Link could see the gears turning in his head as he took in all the pieces: the red tint to the glove he pulled away, the wetness he felt, the empty glass in Link's hand- but he could not find a _reasonable_ way for those pieces to fit together.

 

“You did not just do that,” Ghirahim said as if it were a fact, and Shadow burst out laughing.

 

“It's not funny,” Gannondorf told him, with a hand over his mouth to cover up the fact that he, too, was laughing.

 

“You know,” Shadow said, “Like 90% of the time somebody says, 'Oh no he didn't', he, in fact, did.”

 

“You think this is _funny_ , human?” Ghirahim hissed.

 

“Ghirahim,” Shadow said, trying to control his breathing, “You've got something on your face. Go like this,” he snapped his fingers, and nothing happened, because he was not a magical demon.

 

“By the goddess,” Gannondorf leaned on his elbows on the table, shaking with the laughter he didn't want to let escape, “Link, boy that's... don't...” he trailed off, he was convulsing too much to speak, “I'm dying. I'm sorry, Ghirahim, I needed that. Do fix your face.” He turned to him and smiled, “I wouldn't mind if it stained your hair, though. It looks good like that.”

 

“Do you hear that, Skychild?” Ghirahim asked, and Link rolled his eyes, “Even when you try to embarrass me, it's impossible. You can't make me look bad, I'm simply _stunning_.”

 

“Don't do it!” Shadow warned, and Ghirahim looked down to see that Link had picked up a steak knife, and seemed to be planning to plunge it into the diamond on Ghirahim's hip. Link's eyes widened, he flipped the knife around, dropped his eyes to his plate and started to meticulously carve up the steamed meat as if that was what he had intended to do all along.

 

“Link, don't stab Ghirahim,” Gannondorf ordered, and Link's shoulders slumped.

 

This was bullshit. If he could find a way to get the crystal off his head, he could easily escape. He knew the palace like the back of his hand, he knew where the training grounds were, where the _armory_ was. He glanced at Shadow, the closest thing he seemed to have to a friend in his predicament, but the boy just shrugged. Link glared at him. He was actually trapped by very real magic, but Shadow was only trapped by social convention. It was entirely possible for him to just get up, jerk the crystal from Link's head, and the two of them could leave.

 

Shadow shook his head, and Link remembered that he could read his thoughts. He scowled, and stuck a bite of the meat into his mouth. At least the food was good.  
  
* * *

 

Link had forgotten that after the dinner would come the dancing. He was unsure how he had forgotten, probably because he had blocked it out, but he was happy that so far, no one had forced him to do anything else. At some point, someone had refilled his wine glass, and he was allowed to stand with the rest of Gannondorf's entourage behind his throne while the room filled with music. He had stopped looking to the musicians, because he couldn't bare the sorrow. Hylian culture, his culture, was beyond him now. He tried to ignore the fact that he was half-naked instead of wearing a dress tunic or armor, but he was practically on a stage, and Shadow was standing beside him in real clothes, in Hylian clothes, and he really hoped that he would just be allowed to drink until he passed out.

 

“Did you play?” Shadow asked him, glancing at the musicians who all looked as though they would rather be anywhere else.

 

Link nodded.

 

“We found your ocarina, so I thought,” he shrugged.

 

“The Ocarina, harp, drums, guitar and deku flute,” Link thought, staring at his drink.

 

“How the hell did you learn the deku flute?” Shadow asked.

 

Link Shrugged.

 

“Master,” Ghirahim asked excitedly, “Dance with me? I would love to see your form on the dance floor. As graceful as you are in battle, it would be a delight to watch.”

 

“I can't,” Gannondorf explained, and his eyes darted to Link, “I'm sitting for a portrait.”

 

Link frantically shook his head. No. Please no.

 

“Link,” Gannondorf said, and Link pleaded him with his eyes. Please don't. Please no. Don't do it. He felt the magic of the crystal radiating through him.

 

“Yuga,” Gannondorf changed his focus and Link sighed in relief, “Do you need my subordinates yet?”

 

“No, sir,” Yuga replied, looking up from his canvas, studying Gannondorf and then looking back down, “Not yet. One dance would be fine.”

 

“Link,” Gannondorf looked back to him with a smirk, and Link frantically shook his head, “Dance with Ghirahim.”

 

Link's body moved of its own accord to take Ghirahim's hand when he said, “Oh, yes, Skychild, dance with me. Let's show these Hylians how well their pretty little hero moves his body under my command.”

 

Gannondorf laughed, and Link wondered how much the magic left up to interpretation. He had to dance, but he didn't have to dance /well/. And he had to dance with Ghirahim, but he didn't have to let him lead. He let Ghirahim lead him to the dance floor and the demon lord embarrassed him even further by going out of his way to call attention to him.

 

“You,” he called to the band, “music servants! Let's hear the Hylian national military theme in honor of my master's new slave.”

 

The music changed, and Link wanted to die. They had to know. Ghirahim had called him a slave. They had to know that he was being controlled. Why the hell was no one helping him? He had helped them. He had put his life at risk, put himself in the forefront of every battle. All they had to do was rip the damn crystal off his head!

 

Ghirahim smiled, leaned down, and grabbed Link by the hair, pulling back his head to expose his neck. He licked a long, low line from his collarbone to his cheek, and Link was glad he couldn't see the crowd. Ghirahim paused, nibbled his ear, and spoke in a low voice.

 

“Look at that, Skychild. So many Hylian nobles in this room. The people you fought for. Isn't it strange that none of them defy me? That they would let me mark their pretty little hero in front of them? Do you think it's because they fear me? Or perhaps... they just don't care about you. Perhaps you were an object to use for their war, and now that it's over, they have no use for you. I wonder which it is.” He pulled back, put one hand on Link's waist, and took his hand.

 

They began to dance, and it was strange to Link that Ghirahim knew all the steps to a Hylian dance, moved as if he had been born to do it. He glared up at him, and the hate in his eyes made Ghirahim laugh. He licked his lips, smiled, and flickered his eyes toward the throne.

 

“My master is watching us, Skychild.” He said with a smile, “Isn't it strange how often he pairs us together? Using me to capture you, to break you, and now to give you a brief moment of pleasure with your own culture... I think he likes to see us together. How I would like to give him a show.”

 

_Say it_ , Link told himself,  _Get your shit together and say it_ .

 

But he didn't. He didn't tell Ghirahim that Gannondorf didn't love him, or that he knew that this dance was not supposed to be pleasurable for either of them. For Link it was an embarrassment, and for Ghirahim it was a rejection. Was he really too delusional to see that? Had he gone mad at some point? He was, what, millions of years old or something? It was possible that he had lost his mind completely. The only thing that they had in common was the Demon King's disdain. 

 

* * *

 

As the party wound down, the Hylians were allowed to clear out, and the dance floor was filled with demons and monsters. The music was far more lively, and Ghirahim was dominating the flow of the dance. Demonic dances seemed to involve a lot more... writhing and pain. Zant was almost certainly drunk, and Gannondorf had gone through nearly three bottles of the Hylian wine all on his own. Even Shadow had abandoned Link for the dance floor, where his ability to perform various flips seemed to be winning him the favor of the crowd.

 

“Hey watch this,” he called, “Ghirahim, come here this'll be awesome! Catch me!”

 

Link had no idea why he would trust him to do that, but Shadow climbed on top of a table, and back-flipped blindly into the crowd. Ghirahim caught him, and immediately tossed him into the air, where he turned until his head was below his feet, and spiraled toward the ground. Ghirahim caught him again, and tossed him at Zant as if he were some sort of sportsball, laughing all the while. Zant bent at a bizarre angle, and Shadow flew over him, missing him by mere inches, running his hands along Zant's outstretched body as time seemed to stop for them. Then it was over, Shadow was gone, Zant straightened up, and Shadow hit a wall, crouched as if he were on the ground, cackled, snapped his fingers and melted into shadow, only to pop up back on the dance floor to writhe with the rest of the demons.

 

Link had never seen anything like it. 

 

“Close your mouth and stand up, boy,” Ganondorf commanded, and he did.

 

“I can paint Hylians in my sleep,” Yuga assured him, “It'll only take me a second to get a good base. The difficult part is the voe outfit. Is there a reason he's dressed as a pleasure slave?”

 

“Of course,” Gannondorf smiled, “I do everything for a reason. This one actually had more than one. It was important for the Hylian people to see just how broken their little hero was, but perhaps even more importantly, it was important for that hero to see how little those people ever cared about him.” He turned to look at Link who was standing, patiently waiting on Yuga to sketch him, “Do you see that now, boy? That the princess had a chance to save you, as you so often saved her, and instead used that moment of surprise to fail to assassinate me? That she cares more about my death than your life? That all these Hylians you fought so hard to protect were content to watch you suffer here tonight?”

 

Link shook his head.

 

“Then you are even dumber than I originally believed,” Gannondorf sneered, “That must be why you were chosen to wield the piece you were. A stupid, but courageous boy, who obediently follows anyone he thinks is more intelligent than he is. Is that it, boy?”

 

Link stared at Yuga and refused to participate in the conversation.

 

“Did you actually love her?” Gannondorf asked, and Link continued to stare at the artist.

 

“You don't have to speak, but you do have to answer me,” Gannondorf ordered, and Link felt the crystal overpowering him. Slowly, he nodded.

 

“Stupid.” Gannondorf assessed, “So does it bother you that she abandoned you to save herself?”

 

Link shook his head. Zelda was safe. That was all that mattered. She probably believed that he was strong enough and courageous enough to escape on his own. He was the hero, and she knew it. She didn't think he needed a savior. And she must have figured that killing Gannondorf would have broken the spell that was over him, because she had to know he was under a spell.

 

“ _Stupid_ ,” Gannondorf said again in disgust, then laughed, and asked, “Did you enjoy your dance?”

 

Link shrugged, and then caught himself. He tried to shake his head, and his body refused to obey.

 

“You don't know?” Gannondorf asked, and Link, against his will, shrugged again. Gannondorf laughed, and said to Yuga, “It's like talking to a brick wall.”

 

“I'd rather have that than Ravio,” Yuga huffed, “Always running his mouth, asking for money and disappearing when I or Hilda need him. He's useless. He's probably at the fortress getting eaten by that dragon because he's trying to rob you blind.” He looked up, stared at Link, and went back to sketching, “Yet I know that I'll miss him. I hope he doesn't actually eat him.”

 

“I don't know if he will or not,” Gannondorf mused, as if he weren't particularly interested. He smiled when a moblin handed him another bottle of wine, uncorked it, and took a drink. He leaned back and threw one leg over the arm rest of the throne and Link huffed in annoyance.

 

“It's my chair, boy, I'll sit however I want,” Gannondorf smirked. Link crossed his arms and Yuga made an annoyed sound, so he put them back at his side. The paintings that they had put up were quite good, and he couldn't bring himself to be mad at an artist who wasn't doing anything except honing his craft.

 

“Master,” Ghirahim appeared at his side and Gannondorf took another drink, “Please dance with me! They're playing my theme! It's the song you wrote for me!”

 

“The song Demise wrote for you,” Gannondorf corrected and Ghirahim clapped excitedly.

 

“You remembered!” He exclaimed, and Gannondorf sighed.

 

“Fine, one song, but only because it's my coronation day and you're so... Demise wrote you this song?” He asked, listening, “I like it.”

 

“Thank you, master!” Ghirahim grabbed his hand, and Gannondorf stumbled a little as he pulled him to the dance floor.

 

Link watched them, still amazed at the difference between Hylian and Demonic high society. The song, Ghirahim's song, apparently, was incredibly unsettling. He felt something deep in his bones that unnerved him. It seemed to pass for what the demons considered a slow song, and demonic slow dancing was... positively lewd. Ghirahim had turned his back to Gannondorf, who seemed, somehow, to know the steps. He had his hands on either side of his hips, and they moved together in a manner that could only be described as seductive.

 

Link was terrified the floor was going to devolve into an orgy. He jumped when Shadow sat on the floor beside him and began to speak.

 

“Hey artist,” he smirked, “Come out on the dance floor. Move with me.”

 

“I suppose,” Yuga swished his brush in the turpentine and cleaned it on the cloth before setting it on the easel, “I am nearly finished. It's been a while since I've had any real music to dance to.”

 

Shadow hopped up and to Link's surprise  _leaped onto his back_ . Yuga carried him to the dance floor as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

 

Link was duty bound to watch Gannondorf, but he didn't think that anyone was going to try to kill him. They had firmly shifted into after-party mode, and all the Hylians were gone. The band had even been replaced, little by little, and he was growing more and more uncomfortable watching him dance. Ghirahim looked happier than Link had ever seen him, and nothing pissed him off more than seeing a smile on that man's face. It made him almost physically sick with anger. His muscles tightened and his stomach clenched, and he sat back and let his back rest against the throne. What he wanted more than anything else in the world was sleep, but he had to watch, had to make sure no one hurt the man he one day fully intended to kill.

 

Ghirahim had put one arm over his head to grab onto Gannondorf's hair, and moved the other hand to guide Gannondorf's hand on his hip to the diamond. He gasped in what can only be described as ecstasy as the Demon King squeezed and Link's hands balled into fists. Gannondorf chuckled and put more pressure on the crystal, and Ghirahim positively melted into him.

 

“Master,” He purred, and Link could see pockets of darkness stretching up his body.

 

“Yes, Pet?” Gannondorf asked, and Link was shocked. He sat up, and turned his gaze to the pile of empty bottles by the foot of the throne. Surely they couldn't all be empty because he was in no way drunk enough for this shit.

 

“Again,” Ghirahim begged, “Please, master,” and as Gannondorf squeezed to the tune of the music, Ghirahim's breathing became more and more frantic, his voice hitched more and more, and Link found a bottle with a little bit of wine still in it.

 

Ghirahim writhed, and Link watched as he started laughing, and suddenly, apparently through no intention of his own he screamed, and went still, as every muscle in his body tensed at once. Gannondorf wrapped one arm around his chest to steady him, as diamonds flared all around him, and his form changed completely. It only lasted a second, and with a moan he shifted back, panting, and collapsed against his master, who seemed to find the situation hilarious. The music had changed, and Gannondorf pushed him until he was standing on his own two feet.

 

He laughed again, “Are you going to be alright, demon lord?” He asked, and Ghirahim giggled.

 

“That was amazing, Master,” he purred, and clung to Gannondorf's arm.

 

“I think,” Gannondorf told him, “That I'm going to bed. I'm nearly positive that I'll have to do something royal in the morning.”

 

“Not me,” Shadow called, and Gannondorf looked up to see him swinging from the chandelier, “I don't know where the hell I'm going to wake up, but wherever it is, I'm gonna own it!”

 

“Turning in so soon, master?” Zant asked, in concern, then fell on his face.

 

“Yup,” Gannondorf shook his arm free of Ghirahim, then put it over his shoulders so he could use him for support to step over Zant, “Don't get alcohol poisoning,” he advised.

 

“Good night Zant!” Ghirahim said to his prone form, “Party hard.”

 

“Link,” Gannondorf called, and Link tipped the bottle to get as much of the wine into his system as he could. He was hoping he could replace his entire circulatory system, and that the shock would kill him.

 

“Come on,” Gannondorf commanded, and his body rose, stumbled, and fell to its hands and knees.

 

“Didn't you hear him, Skychild?” Ghirahim laughed, “It's not time to grovel. Get up and follow us.”

 

“Don't be shitty,” Gannondorf raised the hand from Ghirahim's shoulders to pull his hair, which he had meant as a punishment, but Ghirahim leaned into the pain and moaned, so he let go, “Link. Come on. You can do it. Come here and I'll throw you over my shoulder.”

 

Link hadn't tried to move in so long that he hadn't properly registered how close to his goal he had gotten. He didn't think he could stand, but he did manage to crawl. When he made it, he tried to grab onto Gannondorf's robes and pull himself to his feet, and Gannondorf grabbed him by the upper arm and helped. Then he bent at the waist, lifted Link unceremoniously by the thighs, and tossed him over his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, Link!” Shadow called from where he was now sprawled out on on the table while Zant poured an entire bottle of wine over his body, “You GET IT!”

 

Link had no idea what he was talking about, but he vaguely remembered getting in trouble for pouring a single glass of wine on someone. His last thought before he fell asleep on Gannondorf's shoulder was of complete bafflement as he tried to figure out what the hell these people's priorities were.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's sex in this one, so be prepared for that.
> 
> "Show a human a little mercy and next thing you know, he thinks himself your equal." ~ Demon Lord Ghirahim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote another chapter instead of editing the last one.
> 
> Also, I got me one of them fancy Ko-Fi accounts, so if anyone wants to drop some cash in it for any reason, that'd be neat. ( https://ko-fi.com/takocos ) It says that it's a 'placeholder' account right now, but I'm going to work on that right after I post this.
> 
> OpenOffice crashed IMMEDEATELY after I copy/pasted this, so it's amazing this chapter is here. I was trying to save, so the whole file is probably corrupted.

When Link awoke to the sound of screaming, it took him a second to remember where he was. He had the finely tuned instincts of a warrior, and his first response was to look for a fight. He sat bolt upright and reached around him for a weapon, but there was none to be found. He was lying on the floor in a pile of pillows and blankets, which he recognized from his brief time in the castle. The actual bedding, on the bed itself, had been replaced, and it seemed like what had been on it before had been tossed, pillows and all, to make a comfortable spot for him.

 

So that was strange. Hylian prisoners got a cot in their cell. They weren't given royal bedclothes, not even on the stone floor. But he supposed he was a rather high class prisoner. He pulled the sheet back over him, snuggled back into the pillow, and glared at Ghirhim, trying to will him to stop screaming. It took him another few seconds to figure out that they weren't screams of pain.

 

“Yes, master!” Ghirahim screamed, and dug his fingers into the bedposts until they cracked.

 

“Damn this flimsy Hylian furniture,” Gannondorf hissed, the bed creaked, and Link connected the dots. His eyes flew back open.

 

“Yes, master,” Ghirhim screamed, “Use me like the tool I am!”

 

“Stop that,” Gannondorf growled, “Say my name.”

 

“Demise!” Ghirahim shouted in pure, unbridled ecstasy, and Link watched the diamonds dance around him as the cracks spread through his flesh.

 

Instantly, the creaking stopped, and Link rolled over in confusion to get a better idea of what was happening.

 

“Master?” Ghirahim whined, desperate, pathetic.

 

“That is not my name,” Ganondorf's voice rang out, and though most of his body was blocked by Ghirahim, Link saw his face appear when he jerked the demon back by the hair. Ghirahim whimpered in his grip, and seemed confused.

 

“I'm sorry, master,” Ghirahim begged, “I don't know what I did to displease you. I'm sorry, please, please-”

 

“Demise is DEAD,” Gannondorf shouted, and Link curled into himself. The man was still slurring his words, but the magic was glowing around him, lighting the room in that demonic black-light, and to his surprise, Ghirahim's head went limp, and tears began to spill from his eyes.

 

“I'm sorry, master,” He said, as he was forced to meet Gannondorf's eyes. He took a deep, trembling breath and added, “I'm sorry, master Gannondorf.”

 

“Good boy,” Gannondorf released him, and Ghirahim let his hands fall to the footboard, “Now submit like a good little voe to a true Gerudo Warrior!”

 

Something flashed in Link's memory. A cell, with one high window; women with scimitars; gossip stones who cleaned up stories for children- and Hylian men who went missing when they wandered too close to the desert, too far from the safety of walled cities.

 

In the deep recesses of his mind he heard the sound of a whistle, the knowledge that he had to escape.

_Submit like a good little voe to a true Gerudo warrior_ .

 

He focused back in on Ghirahim, who was still crying, and he caught snippets of what he was saying.

 

“Demise is dead. Demise is dead. Demise is dead,” he chanted.

 

“Say my name!” Came the booming voice behind him.

 

“Use me, Gannondorf,” Ghirahim begged, and his hands cracked the wood of the footboard, “The Demon King, my king, my master!”

 

“Scream, voe,” the Demon King commanded, “I want them to hear your pathetic voice in the guardhouse.”

 

“Demise is dead,” Ghirahim muttered, gasped, and screamed, at a loss for words, and Link watched the darkness spread up his chest. His eyes shot open, and locked with Link's. “The Skychild is awake,” he said, but it took him much longer than it should have, between gasps, with a voice that echoed in a way that made Link's flesh crawl.

 

“He'll live,” Gannondorf said, unimpressed.

 

“Master, I'm,” Ghirahim glared at Link as if he were angry with him, then closed his eyes and _screamed_. The darkness that had been spreading engulfed him completely, his mortal form flickered.

 

“Keep it together, voe,” Gannondorf commanded, and Ghirahim shuddered. It seemed as if it were difficult for him to hold his mortal form, and he collapsed onto his chest, no longer capable of speech, just making _noises_ , loud and animalistic, and they probably _could_ hear him outside, and Link could now see the Demon King in his entirety.

 

He bent over Ghirahim and grabbed at his throat, shoving him into the mattress, bent nearly double to pound into him. Ghirahim was slowly reverting, but it didn't seem to be taking, somehow. Link saw the grey slip back into his skin, but then Gannondorf would slam into him and it would retreat. Ghirahim seemed to forget the thing that had made him cry, he didn't seem to have a functioning brain anymore; he was blissed out of his mind, and his incoherent screams were slowly replaced with the same phrase, repeated like a chant, a prayer.

 

“Use me, master,” he begged, and after a few, long minutes, he flickered again, cried out, and Gannondorf brought his hand across his face so hard that Link felt it from the floor.

 

“I said keep it together,” The demon kind growled, and he sounded like a beast, an animal- a wild boar. Link glanced to his face and noticed that his eyes had gone completely white. He didn't think he knew he was there, didn't think he could see him.

 

“Yes master!” Ghirahim cried, and his form solidified again. There were bits of white clinging to the tips of his ears, clawing at his face, “Whatever you want, master, just use me, please-” He was pressed so far into the bed that he couldn't move, and Link was confused by the expression of bliss on his face.

 

Gannondorf shifted his weight, moved the hand from his throat to a shoulder, and Ghirahim cried out in real pain as it pressed the diamond in his chest painfully past the feathers in the mattress and into a spring below. It was over quickly, though, and he went right back to panting and screaming in pleasure. The Demon King let out one final, terrifying bellow, and the incessant creaking of the bed stopped. Ghirahim moaned in pleasure and writhed under his master's grasp.

 

After a few seconds, the diamonds glittered around him again, his skin returned to its normal pale shade, and his hair fell back into his face. Gannondorf held him down as he pulled back, and Ghirahim moaned again, and clawed at the sheets. Link could no longer see the Demon King, but he could hear him shuffling, and assumed that he was settling into bed. After a second, Ghirahim's form disappeared as well, and he heard his voice.

 

“That was _amazing_ , master,” Ghirahim purred, “my heart is filled with rainbows.”

 

“By Din's glowing eyes, Ghirahim,” came Gannondorf's reply, “Don't say shit like that. It's a bedroom, not an amphitheater.”

 

“I'm sorry, master. Here, drink this. You must be thirsty,” Ghirahim begged, and Link turned his back to them and pulled the sheet up to his neck.

 

“Get off of me,” Gannondorf growled, “I'm going to sleep.” He laughed and added, “I feel a hell of a hangover coming on. Extinguish that fire. It's too hot for it.”

 

There was a snap, and the room was plunged into darkness. Link silently thanked the goddess that whatever he had just witnessed was finally over.

 

Unfortunately, it was Link's warrior instincts that woke him again. He heard a sound that his body wanted to respond to, the sound of pain, the sound of distress- someone was crying. Link darted up, got to his knees, and looked onto the bed. His first instinct was to check on Gannondorf, but the man was asleep on his back, taking up most of the bed, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest told Link that he was fine, the spell that compelled him to care relaxed a little, and he looked around for the source of the sound.

 

Ghirahim was sitting in the window seat, staring up at the stars. The purple eyeliner he wore fell down his cheeks in streaks, and he didn't seem to notice Link at all. Tears were pooling from his eyes and falling in gentle drops that he didn't bother to brush away. It wasn't the way Link had expected Ghirahim to cry. If he had ever thought about it at all, he would have expected giant sobs, over the top theatrics, like everything else he did. But this... this looked like real sorrow.

 

Link shifted and stood by the foot of the bed, and Ghirahim's head snapped in the unnatural way that demons had, but Link was slowly becoming accustomed to it, and didn't leap away like he normally did.

 

“What do you want, Skychild?” He asked, and he didn't even bother to narrow his eyes or pretend anger. He didn't seem to have any concern over what Link thought of him. Of course, the boy said nothing, and Ghirahim laughed, “Go back to sleep, mortal. You people need that every few hours or you grow weary and useless.”

 

“Who's Demise?” Link asked, and his voice startled them both.

 

“I don't understand your _thing_ about speech,” Ghirahim huffed, and when Link only shrugged, his tense muscles relaxed and he turned his gaze back to the window. After a few seconds, he surprised Link by answering, “I am a sword spirit. I was created to serve the great Demon King Demise, the most powerful spirit in any realm. He was strong, Skychild, power incarnate, and had a beauty unmatched by any being I have ever seen.”

 

He flicked his eyes back to Link, and he dried the tears running down his cheeks, which did nothing for his smudged make-up, and added, “I suppose... I suppose he really is...” his shoulders heaved and more tears leaked from him, “Gone. In a sense. He... he really doesn't remember me. I was created for him, I live for him, and...” He sobbed, and looked guiltily at the bed as if he were afraid his noises would wake Gannondorf, “And he doesn't even know who I am.”

 

Link nodded. He had a vague understanding of what Ghirahim was talking about, actually. The day Zelda had touched him, he knew that they had been made for each other. The magic of the goddesses flowed through them, connecting them, and he knew that he would live or die at her command. He did not enjoy having something in common with Ghirahim.

 

He moved over to the desk and began to rifle through it while Ghirahim watched with mild interest. He found a piece of parchment, took up a piece of charcoal and began to write, then made his way to the window-seat cautiously, as if he were approaching a wild animal, and handed it to Ghirahim, who looked at it with disgust, until he saw what it actually said.

 

_Zelda holds the soul of a goddess, Hylia. I am the servant of the goddesses. I feel her, calling out to me, from within the queen. Is Gannondorf the Demon King Demise?_

 

Ghirahim looked at him in amazement, then back at the parchment.

 

“There are thoughts in your head?” He asked, as if he had never considered the prospect. Link nodded.

 

Ghirahim fell silent for so long that Link was sure he wasn't going to answer, and had turned away.

 

“Yes,” Ghirahim said in a small voice, “I would know my true master anywhere, no matter what form he takes. I was made for him. I exist only for him.”

 

Link gently pried the paper from his grasp and wrote: _You love him_.

 

Ghirahim looked at the parchment, but did not take it. He chuckled deep in his chest, without making any sound.

 

“No, Skychild. Humans cannot comprehend the deep emotional connection we share. It is more than love. You don't have a similar concept. You don't have anything to compare it to. Demise is not my _lover_ , he is my master. He is my purpose, my only reason for existing.” He turned, looked at Link, and the sorrow in his eyes was so great that a feeling of guilt washed over Link, so he hastily scribbled something else down, and held it back for the demon lord to see.

 

_What is a 'skychild'?_

 

Ghirahim laughed again, then spoke, “The spirit that flows within you, the one you said awakened when you felt the queen. He came from the sky, and... I suppose the humans considered him, _you_ , an adult, but to a demon he was all youth and innocence. It was painful to watch. It was so _pure_ , so _stupid_. It was the kind of stupidity that you couldn't bear to look at. The kind that riled up the blood-lust because such a creature should not be allowed to exist. You just wanted to bend him, _break_ him, free him, in a sense. He bore the same chains as my master, the devoted little tool of the goddess. She had him in her grasp, and he didn't even know. It wasn't the devotion I felt, not the devotion of one who follows happily, willingly, but who followed out of a sickening ignorance. I couldn't bring myself to kill him because I so did want to see just a _spark_ of intelligence in those naive eyes.”

 

Link took the paper, and with a huff wrote:

 

_I'm not Skychild._

 

“Yes you are.”

 

Link tapped the paper, emphasizing the words he wrote, and Ghirahim narrowed his eyes at him.

 

“Yes,” he insisted, “You are. Don't go waggling your thoughts at me, Skychild. Do not pretend that some ignorant little mortal knows more about the thread of fate than an immortal demon lord. You know nothing. If you would accept that, you could embrace that ignorance and _learn_. If you continue to insist on your stupid little denial, you will be miserable your entire life.”

 

Link huffed, pressed the parchment against the wall, and wrote in bold letters.

 

_Well there is no one else I would trust more on the subject of misery. You seem to have a lot of experience with it._

 

Ghirahim looked from the paper to the window and sighed.

 

“Go back to bed, Skychild.” he said, at length.

 

_Let me go. Take this crystal and release me. I am not Skychild. You have no reason to punish me._

 

Ghirahim laughed so loudly when he read what Link had written that Gannondorf stirred in his sleep, and Ghirahim seemed to be seized by panic. He glared at Link, and when he spoke again, it was a whisper.

 

“Skychild, it is only by my master's will that you still draw breath. If I were not under direct orders not to, I would slay you where you stand.”

 

Link was running out of space to write, so his letters were smaller when he held the paper back out to Ghirahim.

 

_Kill me. Defy him. Take fate into your own hands._

 

“Go to sleep, Skychild.” Ghirahim rolled his eyes.

 

_Coward._

 

“Says the man who is too afraid to speak,” Ghirahim smirked.

 

Link flipped the paper, and wrote on the back. He held it out as if he expected Ghirahim to take it, but the man just stared at it with his hands folded around his knees.

 

_I hate you_ .

 

“I'm so glad,” Ghirahim chuckled, and Link shook the paper, tapped the phrase, over and over and over.

 

_I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!_

 

“And I'm glad,” Ghirahim snapped, “You petulant _brat_. You took him from me! You destroyed everything! Shattered my soul into a thousand tiny pieces! If I cannot serve Demise, I will avenge his death. I will destroy the man who took him from me. I may not be allowed to kill you, but I will have you groveling on your knees _begging_ to do my bidding. I'm going to shatter your fragile human mind and leave you an empty husk who's only thought is going to be how to please me to avoid more _pain_. I am going to _destroy_ you.”

 

Link shrugged as if the threat brought him no fear, pressed the parchment to the wall, and wrote slowly, choosing his words carefully.

 

_It won't bring him back, Ghirahim._

 

He looked at what he had written, put it back on the wall, and continued to write.

 

_It won't bring him back, Ghirahim._

 

_I do hate you. I hate you more than I can express. But you're a sword, right, like Fi? Not a person? You don't love your master because you love him, you love him because he forced you to. I don't think it's your fault. I don't think anything is your fault. So, I'm sorry you're so broken. I'm sorry your master created you to feel anything at all. Fi doesn't. I'm really sorry he's dead, but if a servant of Hylia killed him, he deserved it. I'm sorry Gannondorf doesn't love you, but he's a genocidal monster incapable of love. Everything about you is broken. Blaming me for something I didn't do isn't going to fix you. Hurting me for something I didn't do isn't going to make you feel better._

 

_I am not Skychild. My name is Link. I am a Hyrule Warrior. You will never break me the way Skychild broke you._

 

_You'll have to kill me first._

 

He folded the paper, threw it into Ghirahim's lap, and went back to his pallet to lie down. He didn't watch the demon lord for a reaction, he laid his head on a pillow, pulled another over his face to block out any light, and drifted into a restless sleep. The last thing he heard before unconsciousness overcame him was Ghirahim's voice.

 

“I don't need your pity, Skychild.”

 

Link didn't see him neatly fold the paper, nor did he see it disappear in a flurry of diamonds when the demon snapped his fingers.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's got to be a morning after...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got me one of them fancy Ko-Fi pages: https://ko-fi.com/takocos
> 
> I got a comment on the last chapter where somebody said that they liked the banter, so this chapter is less Link-centric introspection and more banter. So I hope you like it.

Ravio popped off the wall on the room he had snuck into and looked around. It was filled with chests, and his heart soared. The little rat in his hand hadn't been a terrible liar after all. He might not even squish him.

As soon as he found himself back in three dimensions Vaati scampered from Ravio's hand, to his sleeve, and stared at the mark on the back of his hand. Fate had smiled upon him, and he did not intend to waste the gift he had been given. If he was lucky, the piece of the triforce that dwelt within the boy's soul would awaken as soon as he touched the master sword. He couldn't be sure it would work- the lad was from another world and would have to draw his power from across dimensions, after all, but it was worth a shot. He cling to his sleeve and climbed up quickly, and sat on his shoulder inside the hood.

“The best treasure in this room, my boy,” he explained in a seductive, soothing voice, “lies within the giant chest. I can break the magical seals that the Demon Lord has set in place, if you can find the key to get past the physical lock. I am, after all, still the greatest mage among the Piccori.”

“Key?” Ravio asked in confusion, because his lock-picking kit was already in his hand.

“That will work,” Vaati nodded, and stood to undo the spells Ghirahim had cast. It was not an easy feat, since he was no longer drawing his power from Gannondorf and therefore didn't have access to the nearly endless reserves that came from the Triforce of Power. Ghirahim was many things, and among them was 'highly skilled mage'. It annoyed Vaati to no end. The arrogant asshole didn't deserve the power he wielded. All he ever used it for was blindly following after whatever master he clung to like a stalker.

He really hoped he got to be there, the day that Gannondorf broke his dark little heart in two. He wanted to see it.

Of course, it was possible that day would never come. The Demon King wasn't stupid; he saw the power Ghirahim had, and wanted to keep it for himself as long as he could. To Vaati, it seemed that he was willing to put up with the annoying fanboy personality if it gave him access to Ghirahim's powers. Vaati wondered how far he would let the whiny little demon go.

The first thing that Vaati would do when he had a new Triforce to pull from would be to brainwash Shadow, and this boy too, if his mind were weak enough. With two heroes under his belt, one of them wielding the Blade of Evil's Bane, he could begin to think about his revenge.

Ravio expertly worked the rods as he felt the metal of the lock move up, down, click into place. He held them steady as he lifted the lid, and once it was up, hastily packed everything into the cloth, rolled it up, and tossed it into his sack. He pulled bundle of red cloth out of the chest, and began to unwrap it excitedly while Vaati held his breath. If he were not pure of heart it would hurt him. If he were not the hero, it would reject him. It might split his soul into halves or quarters. There was no telling what such a blade might do, if the mood struck her.

“A sword?” Ravio asked, and held it at arm's length.

“A sacred sword,” Vaati began to explain, but he was cut off by Ravio's scream. At first, he thought his plan had been smashed, that the boy had been injured, but he pulled his way to the edge of the hood and looked out, and realized that he was, pleasantly, wrong.

“Master,” The sword spirit Fi looked up and down Ravio's form, “What a strange outfit you have selected. However, it seems you have found me.”

“Master,” Ravio laughed, “You hear that? She called me 'Master'! Bitchin!”

Vaati let his eyes fall to the hand that grasped the sword, and was annoyed to see that the mark there did not glow as he had hoped. But, he reminded himself, one cannot have everything. His best bet would probably be to take the boy back to his home dimension, and draw out his power there. Once he had done that, he would be able to contain it. He was a great mage, and with the power of a Triforce, he knew he could easily wield it between dimensions.

“Indeed she did,” He said, “Tell me, boy, do you like legends?”

 

* * *

 

Link bolted upright at the sound of pain that came from Gannondorf, convinced that they were under attack. He jumped to his feet in a panic, but there seemed to be nothing wrong. The Demon King was sitting upright in the bed, cradling his head between his hands, and Ghirahim was behind him, massaging his bare shoulders.

“What happened last night?” Gannondorf asked, “I feel like one of those gorons hit me with a bolder.”

“I imagine that's because of the alcohol, master,” Ghirahim explained patiently, “There's a high chance that you're terribly dehydrated.” He snapped his fingers, and a pitcher of water with a glass appeared in a flurry of diamonds, “Please, master. Drink this.”

Gannondorf took it and drank it in gulps while Link tried to ignore the pounding in his own head. There was no way in hell he was asking either of them for anything.

“Must have been a hell of a party,” Gannondorf said after his third glass.

“Oh it was, master,” Ghirahim purred, and slid off the bed to stand in front of him, “It was a wonderful night.” He smiled, holding the pitcher in one hand, tapping one finger against his lips and staring at Gannondorf with a look that was absolutely... _smoldering_.

Shit.

Gannondorf kept the panic off his face and tried to think. He had drank far too much. He had had to put up with those goddamn Hylians and their bullshit and thought that he deserved to cut loose. He had started drinking in earnest while Yuga had them sit for sketches. That was fine. He had tried to get through to Link, which didn't work, but was not a mistake. Then he had... felt so sorry for Ghirahim that he had let him drag him onto the dance floor. Flashes appeared in his mind, and his eyes jerked to the broken bedposts.

Shit.

Shit.

Fuck.

Cocksucking motherfucking jiminy-fuckface. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUUUUUCK.

“Are you alright, master?” Ghirahim asked in concern, “We should get some food in you. My scans are showing that you're dangerously undernourished, because your body fought off the poison in the wine.”

_Keep your shit together, Gan. You don't want to piss him off. You'd have to kill him, and he's too big of an asset to lose._

“Did you have fun last night, Ghirahim?” He settled, because it seemed to be the safest question to ask.

Link sat on the bed and held his pounding head in one hand. Just let him die. He tried to pry off the crystal, but his hand disobeyed him.

_LINK. Link saw it. SHIT. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck. Keep your shit together. Don't let them see you crack._

“It was _amazing_ , master,” Ghirahim purred, set the pitcher down on the nightstand, and wrapped his arms around Gannondorf's neck.

Shit. Well, this was a thing now.

Link stood up and stumbled to the nightstand. He took the pitcher that Ghirahim has set down and drank straight from it. He was so dehydrated that he didn't feel he needed fancy things like glassware or dignity. Ghirahim tore his eyes away from Gannondorf to huff at him in disgust.

“Like an animal,” He said, and Gannondorf ran a hand through his own hair, much of which had come undone.

“Ghirahim,” he commanded, and the demon's attention snapped back to him, “Don't cling to me like that. I feel filthy.”

“Do you want me to clean you, master?” He asked innocently, and Gannondorf tried not to recoil.

“Yes. Someone has to.” He turned to Link in a rage and asked, “Boy, where is the royal bath in this place?”

Link ran back to the desk and began to rummage through it while Ghirahim rolled his eyes.

“What's he doing?” Gannondorf asked him.

“Finding some parchment, if I had to guess,” Ghirahim seemed annoyed. He would much rather the Skychild weren't there. He felt bolder after he had grown so much closer to his master, and dared to ask, “Please, give him to me master. I know you want him alive, but after all the trouble he's caused you, I think he deserves a proper punishment.”

“He won't speak,” Gannondorf mused while he pulled the rest of his hair from its tight coils, “But he'll write? What the hell?”

Link came back and held a piece of parchment out to Gannondorf who looked at it and burst out laughing.

Ghirahim tried to lean in to read it, but Gannondorf folded it and handed it back to Link.

It had read: _I'm still very angry about the whole capturing and torturing me thing, so you can, quite frankly, go fuck yourself. But I'm going to do this one thing for you without being ordered because I feel like I also need a bath. There is no method of cleansing, no matter the temperature nor the duration, that will ever make me feel clean after what I had to see last night._

_Zelda is coming for me. And as soon as I am free from this mind altering trap you've set, I'm going to find my sword, and stab you right in your face. Now come on._

Link huffed because he hadn't meant for it to be funny, but Gannondorf was still chuckling.

“I've wanted to know if there were any thoughts in that head, boy, for centuries,” Gannondorf confessed. “I've never exactly been in a situation where I can talk to you. But I'm glad that you decided to drop the 'submissive prisoner' act. It didn't fool anyone.”

Link pressed the paper against the broken bedframe and wrote again, then handed it out to Gannondorf to take.

_Go to hell._

He read it, laughed again, and said, “I've been.” He surprised them both by continuing, “Ghirahim. Get the boy a journal so he can communicate. This is interesting. I half-thought he wouldn't be able to read or write.”

Ghirahim snapped his fingers and a small book appeared. He held it out to Link as if he didn't particularly want to touch him, and when Link made no movement he barked, “Take it, Skychild! My master has commanded me to give you a gift. Don't stand there like the fool you are. Have you never received a gift before?”

Link snatched it quickly and opened it. He was confused. It was a real, leather-bound journal. He hadn't expected it to be nice.

“He probably hasn't,” Gannondorf mused, “These Hylians aren't exactly known for their generosity. Boy, when someone gives you something, you're supposed to thank them.” Link rolled his eyes, and Gannondorf narrowed his, “Write Ghirahim a thank-you note, or I will make you say it. That's an order. Pick one.”

Link's eyes widened, he sat back on the bed, at the foot, as far away from them as he could get, and began to write. He considered writing some smart-ass comment, but he had in his drunken stupor and consequent hangover, forgotten how dangerous these people were, and what a predicament he was in, so he shifted his focus to damage control.

_Demon Lord Ghirahim,_

_Thank you. I know I don't communicate well. This is actually a great boon for me. I know that we don't get along, but I think that if most people had to follow an order to give a gift to someone they considered an enemy, they would put forth the minimum effort possible. I didn't expect it to be this nice. I'm shocked, especially after our conversation last night. Most people don't try to talk to me. Please don't take this note as an indication that the animosity between us has lessened. But you're right, I would rather not wind up a tortured husk. I'd like for us to be civil._

_In gratitude,_

_Link_

 

He tore the paper neatly from the journal and handed it to Ghirahim, who read it, folded it, and threw it over his shoulder where it disappeared into a flair of diamonds.

“Skychild, you should know by now that I would never dream of doing the 'minimum' of anything. As much a it pains me, you are, until my master decides otherwise,” he put a hand on Gannondorf's shoulder for emphasis, “one of us. And you will not let down the unit by being _shabby_. Which you are.”

“Boy, lead us somewhere where I can get presentable,” Gannondorf commanded, and Link stood, motioning for them to follow him.

 

* * *

 

Shadow woke up confused, happy, and in pain. He sat up from where he had lain and took in his surroundings. He was nude, which only concerned him because he didn't remember getting that way, and he had no idea what he had done with clothes. That wouldn't bother him, but he had so few sets of clothes. Most of the people in the room seemed to be in a similar state, so he figured that they would all work that out collectively at some point. Seeing as he was on a table in the great hall, he reached out a hand, grasping blindly at a bowl of fruit. He took out an apple, bit into it, and looked down to realize that the thing covering him was not a blanket, but part of a set of mage robes.

They were laid out, covering him and the man next to him, the artist that Gannondorf had hired to pain the royal portrait. He thought that he must have slept with him, though he didn't remember it, but if he had, there was a possibility that the man, who he thought was a Gerudo, would know where he put his pants. He picked up a second apple, put them in his lap, and gently shook the man- Yuga! Yuga was his name- shook Yuga by the shoulder.

His eyes blinked open, and he seemed even more disoriented than Shadow. After blinking a few times he said, “Good morning.”

“I feel like you were less wasted than I was last night,” Shadow smiled and held out the apple, “So do you remember where I put my clothes?”

“I think,” Yuga took it, sat up, and Shadow admired the tattoos covering his back, “I think I do. Give me a second. You were dancing on this table, I know,” he bit into the apple and closed his eyes to block the light, and to think, “And you took them off, slowly, and threw them into the crowd. I'm almost positive the pants are under the table.”

“Oh sweet!” Shadow flipped onto his stomach and peered under the table to find not only his pants, but his socks and boots.

“I don't know what happened to the rest of it,” Yuga admitted, so I threw my cloak over you.

“Thank you!” Shadow popped up, hopping into the pants, pulling them around his waist. He stuck the apple in his mouth to tie them, took it out, and spoke again, “If I can't find the rest of it I'll just steal some clothes from Link. He's got a room out in the guard's quarters, I'm pretty sure.”

“Yes, what is the deal with the hero?” Yuga asked as he slipped back into his robes, “He reminds me very much of my friend Ravio.”

“I don't know what his deal is. He's weird. He doesn't want to be here. Hey are you just an artist? I mean, you created that portal, right? It looks like you're playing with some pretty powerful magic.”

“There is no need to flatter me now, boy,” Yuga laughed, “If you were going to do it, you should have done it last night.”

“Did I not? I'm pretty sure I did,” Shadow laughed and climbed back on the table to pull on his boots, “Maybe not about that, but I think I sweet talked the actual paintings. That's some high class shit.”

“I do work exclusively for royalty,” Yuga mused.

“I would really appreciate it,” Zant pulled himself up by one arm until he slumped over the table, “If we could all be a little more quiet, please.”

“Eeeeey,” Shadow smiled, “Zant, did you see Ghirahim go to Gan's room last night? I think he finally got his pity fuck.”

“I still don't know what that means,” Zant seemed to be searching the table for something, but there was no meat left, and as a Twil he had a hard time with fruit, since they were carnivorous, and their teeth just weren't made for grinding.

“It means,” Shadow explained, running his eyes up and down the table, “That I think he finally got the dick.”

Yuga laughed but Zant looked just confused as ever. Shadow spotted a cauldron of the pumpkin soup that had been laid out at the banquet, and got up to go fill a glass for Zant.

“He means that Gannondorf and that delicious little demon he has,” Yuga explained, “Have.. taken their relationship to the next level.”

“I mean Ghirahim got laid!” Shadow announced happily, and Zant tilted his head.

Shadow scurried back and offered him the soup, which at least helped with the dehydration.

“They did the sex!” Shadow laughed, “Do they not do that in the Twilight realm?”

“Not with a god,” Zant looked aghast.

“Where's your mask?” Shadow sat cross legged on the table and leaned against Yuga.

“I have no idea,” Zant frowned, “Go back. You don't really think... that happened, do you?”

“I absolutely think that happened,” Shadow grinned, “They went off together after that dance, and little Linkie went with them.”

Zant sipped the glass, deep in thought, and eventually said, “I don't think... the Great Gannondorf would do such a thing.”

“The Great Gannondorf was so wasted he couldn't talk,” Shadow cackled, “Oh god I wish I hadn't done that. That was super loud. Just... formal apology to everyone. Hey, Zant, how are you so goddamn innocent? Didn't you overthrow a whole kingdom at one point and like, murder a queen, and turn the heir into a little kid.”

“I am a priest. I don't normally indulge in pleasures of the flesh. I suppose I should. Though I worship the Demon King, I am not overly familiar with demons. You're a shadow demon, and Ghirahim is... certainly demonic. I know very little, but I can say that I have... more or less liked every demon I've met.”

“Dude, that's so sweet. If I could blush I would,” Shadow smiled sincerely, “Yeah, we'll loosen you up.”

“I'm not sure I want to be so loose again in the near future,” Zant laid his head down on the table, “It comes with too much pain.”

“Nah, it's not always like that,” Shadow explained, “We just partied real hard. And we deserved it. I almost got... I'm like 90% sure that Cia chick was gonna rape and murder me. But nah, I agree, Gan deserves this. Think we might could have gone a little easier on Vaati. And that's coming from me. The dude he mind controlled and shit. Vaati's been through some shit and he's a horrible person but you put him in a goddamn terrarium like he was a pet.”

“I thought it would break his moral. I don't even really know Vaati. I mostly thought it would be funny.” Zant said to the table.

“Vaati?” Yuga asked, “The Picori Blade?”

“Yeah. That dude Zant put in the terrarium is the demon who was trapped in the four sword, it's... look, it's a long-ass story. I was there, it was fucked up, he turned a princess into stone? You know, I say it was a long story, but I think I just told it pretty fast. By Feore, my goddamn head is pounding. I don't normally get hungover this bad. We went too hard, guys. We went too hard last night.” Shadow decided.

“Why is he a little rat creature?” Yuga asked, intrigued.

“Because that's what Picori look like. They're like, extinct now or something, I don't know. He uses magic to mascarade as a Hylian. But he can't, because he let Zelda go- also I think tried to rape her, but it seems like everybody is hung up on the 'let Zelda go' part, rather than the, you know 'being a creepy rapist' part.” Shadow took the last possible bite he could and tossed the apple over his shoulder.

“You say that as if there is some other kind,” Yuga laughed.

“I dunno man, you're a Gerudo. It's different. That shit's not a joke to Hylians. We don't have a concept of like... pleasure slaves. The adults used to tell kids that the Gerudo came into town to 'look for boyfriends'.” Shadow said with finger quotes.

“I don't know that I would call myself a Gerudo,” Yuga said, staring at the apple he had taken a single bite of, “I was raised in Lorule. I know nothing of Gerudo culture.”

“Oh. Well. Shit. I guess I shouldn't have assumed that. You look really gerudo-y.” Shadow said, studying him, “Damn, that was racist.”

“You aren't the first person to say that. To be fair, I've been led to believe that I may...” He sighed, “If the Lorulians had not destroyed our triforce, I believe I would be the bearer of the triforce of power. Look.” He pulled back his sleeve and held out his hand to show the mark of the goddess.”

“Holy shit!” Shadow's eyes were wide, “How the hell did you destroy a triforce?”

“I don't know,” Yuga shrugged, “It was long before I was born that the deed was done. But I've always felt drawn to the great King Gannondorf. I think we have a connection. I think that there may be a reason that everyone assumes I am a Gerudo. It isn't that I don't see the resemblance. Though there is a great deal of my mother in me. Look how light my flesh is. Gerudo genes don't work like that. Children are always fully Gerudo. So... perhaps I am wrong.”

“I have absolutely no idea what to say to that.” Shadow put out a hand and rubbed small circles into Yuga's back.

“I got robbed of my triforce too,” Shadow said, to try to close the gap he had created between them, “Link has it. Shadow demons are created from the negative parts of people. When he pulled the master sword, it split all his “impurities” into me. That bastard Vaati has a mirror he uses to control me. I wonder where the hell he keeps it. Because I'd like to get my hands on the damn thing.”

“What a sad state for both of us,” Yuga agreed.

“That Zelda is still out there, running around with a triforce,” Zant said to the table, “Maybe you can find a way to get it out of her, like Sia did.”

“Do I look like a mage?” Shadow glared, “I just want to reunite with Link. I want to be whole again.”

“I'd like to look at that mirror myself,” Yuga decided.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Shadow in this chapter, so it's a bitch-fit-fest.
> 
> Also, Ghirahim may have gotten a little OOC.
> 
> Ganondorf moves on to actually running the country, and delegates aspects of that to his underlings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link's Dress: http://www.thestar.com.my/tech/tech-news/2015/11/16/tri-force-heroes-a-fashionable-party/~/media/41E5CAA8FD2241D395748D92EBF79D07.ashx

With the hylian and demonic servants working together, the great hall was cleared out by the time Gannondorf made his way down to breakfast in the dining hall. It was set with a decadent meal, and his troops were seated fully dressed, except for Shadow, who never found more than his hat and gloves, and was therefore still in a rather bad state of dishevelment.

Ganondorf had had Ghirahim produce his mage robes from the Gerudo Fortress, and looked much more like a king than a warrior, without looking as over the top as he had in his ceremonial dress for the coronation. Link looked angry and a little disgusted, but took the seat next to Shadow and stared longingly at the food. He thought that they would not be permitted to eat until after taking the blessing of the goddesses from their leader, but he was shocked to see the people at the table dig in as soon as Gannondorf told them to sit down.

Not that he would waste any time. He piled his plate full and began to eat with the rest. It was no concern of his.

“Now that we've had a night of debauchery,” Gannondorf spoke loudly, and the table fell quiet, “We need to actually begin running this kingdom. The witch who sought to use my power as her own is dead, thanks to Volga, who will be joining us as soon as everything is moved over from the Gerudo Fortress, and we should all take a moment to appreciate his greatness.”

There was a murmur from the table, along with a loud clapping, and shouting of praise to Volga, and Gannondorf let it die down before he continued speaking.

“In addition,” He went on, “We owe this victory in part to my two lead generals, who are both deserving of praise in their own rights. Zant, you led our troops to victory and killed the Shieka Impa, leaving this kingdom without a false leader after the loss of the heirless queen, Zelda. Stand up and take a bow.”

Zant looked nervously at the table. He hated receiving public praise without his mask, which he had found broken in the great hall during the clean up. But Shadow had told him that he knew an expert in masks who would be able to repair it, and promised to take him the second they had a moment free. His eyes scanned the table, and he made a short bow, before he took his seat with shaking hands.

“I cannot wait to see what you do with the priesthood,” Gannondorf continued, “We'll be moving the high priesthood from the Temple of Time to the Desert Temple as soon as it is rebuilt.”

Link's jaw dropped, but no one seemed to notice.

“As a priest myself,” Gannondorf went on, “The chosen child of Din, and the reincarnation of a powerful god, it is one of the most important aspects of my kingdom. I want to see it done properly, and I feel that you will encounter resistance from these Hylians who are so used to their altered Sacred Texts. But in my travels, I managed to get my hands on the Book of Madora, the oldest book in the Hylian language, and I expect that you yourself, or someone you trust, will be able to translate it, and then we will be able to get rid of these racist notions of Hylians being the chosen people of the goddesses once and for all. After all, I am living proof of that falsehood.”

“I'm so excited, mater!” Zant said, and he looked it. All his nervousness had vanished at the prospect of leading the church and getting to read such an artifact, “The transition will go smoothly. I don't care how much the Hylians will hate being led by a Twil. They will have to respect me. I draw my power directly from a divine source.”

Link felt a deep emptiness forming inside him, and tried to fill it with food. He piled more onto his plate and began to eat again.

“And of course,” Gannondorf continued, “high praise must go to my right-hand general as well, who led my forces to victory and managed to capture the Legendary Hero. Ghirahim, stand up and take a bow.”

Ghirahim stood, and with his flair for dramatics waved his hand gracefully, brought it to his chest as he threw the other behind his back, and bowed so low his forehead nearly brushed the table. As he stood back to his full height he laughed, threw out his arms and stuck out his tongue, wiggled it around and licked his lips.

“I am honored by your praise, master,” Ghirahim began, but Shadow cut him off.

“Ghirahim got laid!” He screamed, bounding in his seat and pointing, “Ghirahim got laid!”

“Shut your mouth!” Gannondorf snapped, but Shadow cackled.

Ghirahim simply smiled and gave him a look that may have been a warning, but seemed more akin to pride.

“As I was saying,” Gannondorf went on, “Ghirahim will be leading the Hylian military in the late Impa's absence. He has more than demonstrated his skill on the battlefield when he managed to overcome the only real threat Hyrule had to throw at us.”

“I was there too!” Shadow protested, “I could get that job too, if I were sleeping with the boss.”

“No you couldn't,” Gannondorf countered, “And you will watch your mouth.”

“I find his jealousy adorable,” Ghirahim, who was still standing laughed, “You're so transparent, Skychild. You did nothing in that battle. Were it not for me, the hero would have split your spirit and you would be in the shadow realm trying to put yourself back together. Show a little respect.”

“He was going to kill him!” Shadow protested still pointing at Ghirahim, “I don't care how well he works that tongue on your dick, the fact of the matter is that he had the hero dead, and if it wasn't for me you'd be sitting there waiting on a rebirth to come and stab you in the night! Zelda's gone, and if we had killed the hero instead of capturing him, this whole thing would have fallen apart.”

“Shut your mouth, you petulant brat!” Ghirahim hissed, leaning over the table.

“It's true! And I know you're not used to this, so you don't know how to react, but I'M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU!” Shadow stood and leaned toward Ghirahim, matching his body language, and the rest of the table looked on with bated breath as they stared each other down.

“Shadow,” Gannondorf said darkly, “You are not exactly an invaluable asset to this operation. So I offer you this choice. You learn to control your tongue, or I let Ghirahim cut it out.”

“This is bullshit!” Shadow slammed his hands on the table, “I don't even want to run the stupid military, but I deserve credit for capturing Link too! He didn't do it alone!”

Gannondorf sighed, chuckled, and said, “What can I expect from a choas spirt? Fine. Shadow helped control Ghirahim's blood-lust. Which seems to be flaring up again. And you don't seem to be controlling it now. So I suggest you sit down.”

“It's bullshit,” Shadow huffed as he took his seat.

“It's a reward for a job well done,” Ghirahim countered as he stood and looked down his nose with his arrogant gaze.

“In the bedroom,” Shadow mumbled to the table.

“On the battlefield,” Gannondorf continued, “Ghirahm is by far our most skilled warrior. And these Hylians are pathetic. I don't understand why. Yes, they are small and weak, but I have personally seen a ten-year-old Hylian child murder a mother ghoma in front of her infant children, which is not the easiest thing in the world to do. Ghrahim, I need loyal, strong troops. And I need you to do that by actually training them, not flying into a rage and murdering them on sight.”

“Master, you wound me,” Ghirahim said with pain in his eyes, “I would never destroy something of yours without permission. I haven't killed Skychild, and I dislike him so much more than those pathetic things the Hylians call soldiers.”

He looked like he was about to cry, and it made Gannondorf uneasy, so he cleared his throat and went on, “Anyway, yes. Highest praises to my generals. Everyone eat.”

Ghirahim sat down and still looked crestfallen.

“I just mean,” Gannondorf explained, “That you have a temper.”

“I'm sorry, master,” Ghirahim gazed up at him like a kicked puppy, “I didn't mean to displease you. Tell me what I did and I promise to avoid it in the future.”

“You didn't do anything, I wasn't chastising you. You don't like Hylians, and I don't want you killing people every time they raise your ire. You're a perfectionist when it comes to swordplay. And I expect nothing else. But these Hylians... they're terrible. There's not such thing as a Hyrule Warrior. Gerudo create warriors. Hylian's create... well Link is considered an anomaly because he's smart enough to figure out how to push triangle shaped blocks into triangle shaped holes. I don't know if it's that their potential is genuinely that low or their standards are. The only thing that they seem to have gong for them is their sheer numbers- well, and their penchant for thievery. They have enough men that their population can skyrocket. Hylian children are not particularly rare.” Gannondorf stared at Link, lost in thought.

“I won't kill them, master,” Ghirahim was eager to please, “And I'll try my best to train them. I'll let you know what they're worth. If there are any warriors among them, I swear to you that I will find them.”

“You'll both have an uphill climb. I doubt I'll fare much better on the domestic side. This country's economic system is a mess, the infrastructure is non-existent from what I could see, I've not seen a single school anywhere...” He looked up when he felt Link's presence standing behind him, and took the note he offered.

_Seriously, can I please change clothes? You made your point. The whole kingdom knows I'm a conquered slave. And Shadow asked to borrow an outfit. Can I just go to my old room and put on some actual clothes? I've been good. I've followed all your orders. What do you think I'm going to do? I can't do anything with this thing stuck to my head._

“I was planning on taking you around the market and showing you off while I familiarized myself with the capital,” Gannondorf explained.

 _I'm not even humiliated anymore._ Link wrote and sat the paper in front of him, and Gannondorf laughed.

“Then why does it matter?” He asked as he took a long drink of his milk.

Link leaned over his shoulder between the king and Zant, and wrote: _You think our military is terrible? Do you know how much it would raise moral if it looked like I was following you willingly? You know that Hylians don't want to follow you. And yes, they think I'm a fallen hero. But you're right- I'm the best among us, and everyone knows it. I don't mean that to sound vain, just that the queen herself hand-picked me, and I hold records on the training ground. I think I might have some sway with the troops. And I'd have more of it if I looked like I wanted to be here._

Gannondorf sighed, and asked, “What do you consider actual clothes? That ugly green thing you always wear?”

Link shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head again.

“What does that mean?” Gannondorf asked, annoyed, “Write it down or I will make you speak.”

Link blushed as he wrote, as if what he was saying were embarrassing.

_Impa asked me to wear that, I didn't pick it out. That tunic that Ghirahim destroyed was an ancient Hylian Sacred Relic that belonged to the Hero of Time. It had been preserved by the royal family for generations. I wish he hadn't destroyed it, but I obviously never deserved to wear it. It was apparently gifted to him by the Sage of Light. I am no hero, and I don't deserve clothes from the Sacred Realm._

Gannondorf stared at the paper for far longer than it took to read it, then turned his eyes to Link's face. He was expressionless; the practiced expressionless of a soldier, and looked away when Gannondorf tried to meet his eyes.

Finally, the king sad, “Ghirahim, can you take Shadow and Link to his old room to get them dressed? Then have him pack his things in a chest and have them taken to my room.”

“Oh master,” Ghirahim grabbed his arm and snuggled into it, “You do trust me!” And Gannondorf smiled. It was exactly the reaction he anticipated, and Ghirahim was the least likely person to let the hero escape. Link frowned, and Shadow melted into a puddle of darkness and disappeared altogether rather than walk with them.

Link took the paper back and wrote a simple: _Thank you._

He hesitated for a long time, his hand just hovering there before he glanced at Ghirahim, then Zant. He shuddered, touched the charcoal to the page, and in quick, sloppy letters, amended: _Thank you, master._

 

* * *

 

Shadow was leaning against the wall by the door when Ghirahim and Link arrived at the barracks. He stood, and he and Link both squared their shoulders as they walked behind and on either side of their new leader. Word had traveled fast through the castle, and the soldiers knew to expect their new leader for his surprise visit. They had all prepared dutifully, and each soldier stood with one hand behind their back and the other fisted over their heart in a Hylian salute as he walked in, at least a head taller than the largest among them, and flanked by a hero and a demon.

Ghirahim was pleasantly surprised by what he found. Every bed was neatly made, every chest and wardrobe locked and shut, and the place had been recently cleaned. The furniture and the clay pots that filled the room were as neat and tidy as the soldiers themselves. He smiled at the way they tried to conceal their fear.

“Good morning, everyone,” He called from the center of the room, “I am the amazing Demon Lord Ghirahim, whom you may remember, if any of you managed to face me on the battlefield. I must admit that I come into this position positively _reeking_ of disappointment. I have no idea how you pathetic whelps have managed to survive as long as you have after what I witnessed.”

He smiled, shot a glance at Link, and continued, “Your former leader, Impa of the Shieka tribe, is dead at the hands of my ally, and I will not be repeating her mistakes. I expect loyalty and skill, and anything else will rile my demonic blood-lust. Some of you have seen it, and I daresay you would not like to witness it again. I have some things to take care of this morning, but my leadership _will_ begin in earnest this afternoon. So if anyone feels like deserting, I suggest you do it now. It will be the _only_ time I will allow such cowardice in my presence.”

Link wished now, more than ever, that he were wearing proper clothes. Standing behind Ghirahim in a slave outfit made his entire body tremble with embarrassment, and the emotion that was becoming his default, rage. He wanted to shatter that diamond here, in front of everyone, but as he looked at the weapons carefully placed in their slots, on the wall above each soldier's bed, his mind rang clear with the command Gannondorf had given him before they were allowed to leave the dining hall.

“Link,” the king had said, “Treat every command Ghirahim gives you as my own. I won't have you two squabbling. I'm sick of it.”

He heard this alongside the command Gannondorf had given him at the feast the previous night, the much more simple, more difficult to ignore or wheedle around, “Link. Don't stab Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim was still talking when he tuned back in to the world around him.

“You see what I have done to your legendary hero,” he was saying, “And you have seen how easily I slaughtered your peers when they questioned me. So my advice is that each and every one of you consider yourselves _incredibly_ fortunate that I have not yet killed you where you stand. Now get out of here. The sight of you and your pathetic weakness makes my gore rise. I don't want to lay eyes on any of you until I return this afternoon.”

After the soldiers had filed out in two orderly lines, Shadow mused, “How many of them do you think will return after you scared the hell out of them?”

“Less than half, I should hope,” Ghirhim gritted his teeth, “My master has forbidden me from killing them, but I need to thin the ranks of those loyal to their old queen. I do not intend to waste my precious time training my master's future assassins.”

“You think Gan's gonna like that you want to cut his army in half?” Shadow asked.

“The great Gannondorf trusts me explicitly. And your jealousy is adorable, but it is getting on my nerves.” Ghirahim turned to Link, “Let's see your clothes, Skychild, though I must say that the prospect does not thrill me. Hylian fashion leaves much to be desired.”

“You're wearing... goddamn it I want to make fun of you so bad!” Shadow hissed, “How the fuck do you look that good in a slutty leotard? It's like a goddamn Halloween costume! It pisses me off!”

“Again,” Ghirahim smiled as he followed Link to one of the identical sleeping areas, “Your jealousy is noted.”

Link pulled open the wardrobe and took out his military uniform, and set it on the bed to pick apart the individual pieces so he could put it on, but Ghirahim stepped past him and his eyes widened.

“Oh, Skychild,” he mused, “This wardrobe is bursting. You always wore that same ugly thing, I had no idea you had any sort of taste. I'll pick something out for you.”

Link shrugged. He would much rather wear anything he owned than the thing they had him in.

Shadow wormed his way under Ghirahim and pressed himself between him and the racks to snag a simple black tunic and a matching black undershirt. He skitered out just as quickly to dress, but Ghirahim took his time, sliding each rack slowly and letting his eyes fall over the outfit Link had hung there.

“You say you dislike that ugly tunic,” he mused, “Yet you have at least three more that are almost identical. And several more in different colors. You have the tackiest taste, Skychild.”

Link sat on the bed and shrugged.

“Aren't these gowns normally worn by Hylian women?” Ghirahim asked as he pulled out a floor length pink dress bearing the Hylian royal crest and held it at arm's length. Link shrugged and fidgeted. Ghirahim looked him up and down, and put it back on the hanger with a simple, “Much too formal.”

Link breathed a sigh of relief. When he had bought that he hadn't actually ever intended anyone to see him in it. He had always told himself that it was for covert missions, in case he ever needed a disguise. But it was pretty, and spoke of nobility, and if he just grew his hair out a little he thought he could pull it off.

“I'd wear that,” Shadow said, and flopped down on the bed, “Not in pink though, come on, Link. Don't do pastels. You're better than that.”

Link rolled his eyes.

_There are colors other than black._

Shadow stuck out his tongue and watched Ghirahim's back as he listened to the rustle of the hangers.

“Oh this is cute!” Ghirahim actually perked up as he said it, and when he turned around, and Link saw what he was holding, he sighed, and shook his head.

“Why not?” Ghirahim smiled. Link didn't seem embarrassed, he seemed to have a practical reason for his refusal, “This is the best thing in your limited collection.”

Link rustled around in his bag, pulled out the journal, wrote, and held it out for Ghirahim to see.

_Those aren't walking around clothes, it's a uniform from a part-time job I used to have. People will think I'm working._

“People are gonna think he's delivering mail if you put that on him,” Shadow looked the outfit up and down, “It's a postal worker's uniform.”

“Really?” Ghirahim chuckled, “What if you don't wear the little bunny hat or the... what is this, a banner?”

Link shrugged. It was better than the slave outfit.

 _It'll still be the uniform._ He wrote.

“Try it on, Skychild,” Ghirahim smiled, “For me.”

Link shrugged. He didn't understand the predatory gaze Ghirahim was giving him, but he dug through the wardrobe to find the matching sandals and gauntlets. He didn't particularly want to change in front of the demon, but after the brutal whipping he had lost his modesty. He slipped quickly out of the voe garb, and felt much cleaner in fresh clothes. He tried to knock the crystal off when he pulled the shirt over his head, but it seemed to be fused to his flesh. Ghirahim took him by the shoulders and pushed him up to the mirror to let both of them take in his new look.

“You look adorable Skychild,” His voice dropped a full octave as he bent almost double to rest his chin on Link's shoulder. He squeezed Link's bare bicep with one hand and let the other wander down to cover the spot of skin left bare between the place the tank top ended and the shorts began. He let it lie there a second as Link watched Ghirahim's face in the mirror.

“I would almost say,” Ghirahim chuckled, and slipped his thumb into the waistband of the shorts. He smiled, and Link caught a glint in his eye before he opened his mouth and dragged his long tongue down Link's bare neck, “ _delicious_.”

Link's face contorted into a look of fear and panic, but Shadow scoffed.

“Really?” He asked, “He just looks like a postman. Wear some different shoes or something or I guarantee people are going to be walking up with packages.”

Ghirahim stood, kept his hands possessively on Link's shoulders, and looked at Shadow in the mirror.

“I will confess,” Ghirahim admitted, “That I do not understand Hylian culture. Why is the voe outfit considered sexy, but this is an outfit fit for an office?”

“He's not topless in that?” Shadow said, confused.

“Yes, but his _actual genitals_ are bulging out,” Ghirahim pointed out and Link quickly covered himself with one hand and moved to pull the shorts down in the back with the other. He had somehow never noticed that. He was just so used to seeing it.

“No they're not,” Shadow sat up to look at him, “Link, move, let me see.”

Link shrugged. He had worn this outfit the entire time he had worked for the post office and never been embarrassed before. Ghirahim just made him so nervous... But Shadow was right, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He tried to shrug, but Ghirahim's grip on his shoulders was too tight.

“He looks fine,” Shadow shrugged, and Link watched in the mirror as Ghirahim licked his lips.

“He certainly does,” He agreed, and Link shuddered, “But these tacky accessories are terrible. Take them off and let's see how it looks without the gauntlets and find some decent shoes.”

Link huffed as Ghirahim let go of him.

“What is it now?” Ghirahim asked, annoyed.

“He doesn't want to wear a uniform for a job he doesn't have,” Shadow explained, as if it were obvious.

“You would prefer the slave outfit then?” Ghirahim asked, “The uniform for the job you _do_ have?”

Link sighed, his shoulders drooped, and he shook his head.

“Good. Then let's get you presentable, and you can pack your things,” Ghirahim squeezed his shoulder, “I think that when we're in town today on my master's tour, we should have a decent outfit made for you.”

Link shrugged. It had seemed so important this morning but now he was beyond caring. He had hoped he could just put his knight's uniform back on and be done with it. This was stupid. He looked like a teenager with a dumb summer job. He should have thrown this thing away, but he had no way of knowing that he would have a demon going through his closet dictating what he was and was not allowed to wear. At this point he was running out of energy. Before, he had always felt like he had an endless supply. He now realized that he was only high on victory, and that living in conditions so limited was wearing down everything; his body, his energy, his nerves- his sanity.

He stared at himself in the mirror. The stupid summer job outfit wasn't even the worst part. His face was sallow, and there were bags under his eyes from a lack of decent sleep. His entire body looked strained and worn. He frowned. He used to be... he didn't want to say that he was vain, but he had no other word for it. Even Sai had said that he was too full of himself, too cocky, and she seemed to like the result, judging from her creepy paintings and statues.

“Are you going to cry over an outfit, Skychild?” Ghirahim huffed, “Really?”

Link shook his head and turned back to the bed to fumble for his journal. He stared at it a long time, trying to put what he was feeling into words that Ghirahim would understand. He looked up at him, searching him, and finally decided on something simple.

_I look awful._

Ghirahim looked at the paper, then grabbed Link by the chin and forced his face up so the demon could get a good look at him.

“Well,” He said at length, “At least you recognize it. This is what I was talking about this morning, Skychild. You look _shabby_ , sloppy. You aren't well put together.”

“Oooh!” Shadow stood and jumped on the bed, “Ghirahim! Ghirahiiiiiim! Ghiiiiraaaahiiiiim!”

“WHAT!?” The demon lord barked.

“MAKEOVER!” Shadow yelled.

Ghirahim mused in contemplation as he studied Link's face.

“You're arrogant,” He said, apparently apropos of nothing, “Arrogant, vain, and stubborn.” When Link contorted his face to growl at him, he laughed, “That is why you cannot remember your place, Skychild. Such a meddlesome little gadfly, always buzzing in my ear...” he trailed off, and jerked Link's face back and forth to study it from different angles, “I would have thought the night covered in nothing but your own blood would have beaten those traits out of you. I had even ventured to hope that I had beaten them out of you myself. Why were these things not purged with the rest of your,” he sneered, “sin?”

Link shrugged.

“Maybe,” Ghirahim mused, more to himself than to Link, “Because the goddess, and by extension, the queen, wanted to preserve at least a little of your survival instinct. You would give your life, but vanity prevents _too many_ scars, doesn't it?” he hummed as he thought, “Or perhaps she just liked to look at you, just like Cia. I wonder what she would think if she could see you now? You really do look terrible.”

Link jerked away and glared at him.

“Would you like me to make you pretty, Skychild?” Ghirahim's voice was so full of mockery Link began to shake again.

“He doesn't remember that,” Shadow's shoulders had slumped, and Ghirahim caught his sad expression in the mirror, “He doesn't remember any of that. He doesn't know what 'Skychild' means.”

“But you do,” Link saw Ghirahim's expression change as the realization came over him.

“Stop!” Shadow held up a hand, “Before you go on your completely justified murder spree, take a second, ok? The first day I showed up to your camp, I told you that we needed to talk.”

Ghirahim had whirled, and now faced Shadow as Link watched, “I have nothing to say to you, human. I should have shattered you on the battlefield when you refused-”

“Shut the hell up!” Shadow snapped, “I'm trying to apologize to you!”

“I don't want to hear your groveling,” Ghirahim growled.

“Not because I'm afraid of you!” Shadow snapped back, “Asshole! Because I hadn't been split when we did what we did. We- both of us,” he ran both hands through his hair, “Goddamn it, Ghirahim, we killed Demise! But listen!” He held up both hands as if it would stop the rage, but Ghirahim moved like a lightning flash and backhanded him so hard he went flying from the bed and across the room. Link screamed, and Ghirahim turned on him, but the noise of Shadow standing jerked both of their attention back to him.

“I deserved that!” He said, pulling himself up, “But Link genuinely doesn't remember. And you... you did not make that decision _easy_. You stole Zelda, who I... I...” He looked up and his eyes were so pitiful that Ghirahim, who had reared back to slap him again, stopped mid-step, “I really... really thought she loved me! I... I know she pushed me off cliffs and...” his eyes were full of tears, “I can't explain it, Ghirahim, I... we... we're servants of the goddess. We can't help it! We were made to serve her! It doesn't matter what she does. It doesn't matter if she forces us onto battlefields or into dungeons or past the gates of hell itself I... I love her right now.”

Ghirahim slowly lowered his hand, and stared.

“And so does Link! She could have... she... she's a mage, a pirate, a ninja she could have... she didn't have to...” Tears began leaking down his cheeks as he screamed, “She doesn't care about us! She sent a ten year old boy on a dangerous quest, we could have died! She pushed me off a cliff so many times! She hid from us, hid who she was, she-”

“She doesn't love you, Skychild,” Ghirahim spoke softly, more softly than Link had ever heard him, and it frightened him.

“You took her from me!” Shadow shrieked at him, “And I hate you! She doesn't even love me back and I still hate you! I can't stand it! I can't stand to look at you!”

“I know,” Ghirahim nodded.

“You took her from me!” Shadow shrieked.

“She wouldn't even recognize you, Skychild,” Ghirahim explained, patiently, “If she wanted you at all, she would want the one who looks more Hylian, less demonic.”

“But we can merge! I know we can!” Shadow screamed through his tears, “We were one, once! We can be again!”

“She shot you in the back,” Ghirahim reminded him, of the battle, of the light arrow that dissipated his form.

“I DON'T CARE!” Shadow shrieked, “I have the soul of the hero! I'm on a never-ending quest to protect the princess! It's my purpose! I can't-”

Ghirahim wrapped his arms around Shadow's flailing form and pulled him to his chest, even as he continued to struggle, to fight against him.

“Stop. Struggling.” He said, and there was so much force in his voice that Shadow obeyed. He buried his face and both fists in Ghirahim's traveling cloak and sobbed into it.

“Please,” he said, “Please.”

“I don't know what you want from me, Skychild,” Ghirahim sighed, and put a hand on either side of Shadow's face to pull him back. He tilted his own head so that his hair would fall out of the way and Shadow could see both his eyes.

“Do you remember, eons ago, I told you that we were connected by a string of fate?” Ghirahim asked, and Shadow nodded.

“I don't think that what you feel is hate,” Ghirahim explained, “Why do you think you hate me, Skychild?”

“You took her from me,” Shadow whimpered.

“I cannot take something that you do not posses,” Ghirahim's voice was patient, and Shadow closed his eyes, and grabbed both Ghiraihm's wrists, but he didn't pull them away, so the demon lord continued, “I know that you are jealous because my master appreciates me and yours does not.”

Shadow's eyes shot open and he bared his fangs, as he spat, “He doesn't love you!”

“I know,” Ghirahim answered, and it shocked both Links, “But it doesn't matter. You're still jealous. The truth is, Skychild, that Demise is dead, and Hylia sees you as nothing but a tool. And we have to live with that. We have to do whatever we can to move past it. I tried to change the past, opened the gates of time and stepped through them, and I learned that what is done cannot be undone. Do you understand?”

“No!” Shadow screamed.

“Do not lie to me,” Ghirahim hissed.

“Why doesn't she...” he began, but Ghirahim cut him off.

“Because she is a manipulative little wretch and because you are a demon. Those are things you cannot control. I tire of this conversation. It stirs emotions within me that are conflicted and troublesome to control. So we will speak of this no more,” Ghirahim stood to his full height, but kept Shadow's head in his hands, and after a sigh admitted, “Right now. We don't have time. Perhaps later. Perhaps not. We'll see how I feel.”

Shadow pulled away and dried his eyes on his sleeve. He didn't look at Ghirahim, he seemed to decide that the least embarrassing way to exit the conversation was by sinking into a puddle of shadow and disappearing completely.

“I'm going to regret that,” Ghirahim said aloud, then to Link, “Come, Skychild, we've wasted so much time on the incessant ramblings of an inconsequential shadow demon that we may be late for our outing with my master.”

Link was so shocked by what he had just seen that he didn't register the command until he found himself standing by the demon lord's side.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries are made, and there's the beginning of a FABULOUS MAKEOVER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got me one of them Ko-Fi accounts: https://ko-fi.com/manage/index
> 
> Also, I don't know if I mentioned this or not, but I did actually get Hyrule Warriors for my 3ds, so if people get more in character, it's because I understand the characters better now.
> 
> The Hylian army is as big of a piece of a shit as I make them out to be. Everybody in this goddamn army is useless except for me. And they will turn on each other in the blink of an eye. I was playing through, and Ghirahim /specifically said/ that he was mind controlling some of our soldiers so that they would fight against us, so I thought, "Oh, we'll have to break the spell."
> 
> Nope. The Hylian army has no concept of a court marshal. If you turn traitor or disobey orders, even if your commander knows that it's against your will, you get executed on the spot. No fucks given.
> 
> Wish I'd known from the outset of this fic that Ghirahim could mind control people. I don't remember him doing that in Skyward Sword.

Volga was unaccustomed to the smile on Zant's uncovered face, but he didn't care enough to waste time trying to understand it. He was just happy to see that the Twil had come to remove him from his position. He had volunteered for it more as a way to avoid the necessity of the pomp of the coronation. He had no desire to play human around a bunch of pretentious Hylian nobility, and if there were ambassadors from the Goron in attendance, as he had been led to believe, he could not promise that he wouldn't simply devour them.

He had always been partial to the taste of Goron flesh. Something about the knowledge that he was tasting the living meat of a creature that delighted in invading the home of a dragon and stealing their bomb flowers made the taste more exquisite. Perhaps the old adage was true, perhaps revenge really did influence the sweetness of a meal.

“It is strange to see you without your mask,” He said, by way of conversation, and added, because he was in a particularly good mood, “The scent glands around your mouth look fetching. Perhaps you should go without it more often.”

Zant didn't know how to react when presented with a compliment, and stood blinking for a few seconds.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally settled on, “Thank you.”

“Are we ready to move into Hyrule proper?” Volga asked, “I yearn to return home. Death Mountain calls me.”

“Yes!” Zant nodded excitedly, “The coronation was beautiful! Everything is going so well! Except for the assassination attempt...”

“Assassination attempt?” Volga frowned. Perhaps he should have gone after all. Gannondorf had promised social equity for the dragons among the other hylian races, something that they had never, in their long history, enjoyed. He would hate to see it squandered by a stray arrow or blade.

“Ghirahim said that it was a Hylian woman,” Zant explained, “So Master Gannondorf believed it was the queen, Zelda. I think he's right. I felt a powerful mage use Feore's Wind to escape the ceremony.”

“The tyrant Zelda needs to be hunted down and slaughtered for her crimes against the dragons,” Volga sneered, “Dragmire made a mistake letting her live. If you show a human mercy they begin to believe themselves to be your equal. I will make a feast of that woman. You can really taste the magic flowing through the blood of a mage.”

“The Great Gannondorf has his reasons,” Zant's eyes narrowed, “He is a god. He is not to be questioned.”

“Dragons have no use for human gods,” Volga shrugged.

“Be that as it may,” Zant let out the breath he was holding and tried to dispel his rage at the blasphemy; it would not do to start a fight and create dissent within their ranks. He was a High Priest now, and he needed to act like it, needed to control himself. He could not attack Volga for his insolence. Once he thought he was capable of speaking without whirling at him like a dervish, he continued, “We should focus on the task at hand. The crew is packing up the fortress to move everything to the capital. You and I have been entrusted with the Great Gannondorf's personal things, and the secret armory full of the former hero's stolen artifacts.”

“I'd like to get a look at that stuff myself,” Volga huffed, “I could feel draconic magic radiating from those things before you people put up the wards to hide them.”

“Ghirahim went through them,” Zant explained as Volga unlocked the door he had been guarding, “And there were draconic artifacts... among other things that you would probably not wish to see. The artifacts will be returned to your priests at the Fire Temple.”

“He was my grandfather, you know,” Volga said, as if the phrase carried great meaning.

“Who?” Zant asked, because he had no idea what that meaning was.

“The draconic priest of the Death Mountain Temple, Volvagia.” Volga explained and entered the room as Zant followed behind him, “The 'hero' of the Hylians bashed in his skull with a hammer and stole the essence of his life, over a conflict that they had no stake in. Those gorons are nothing but thieves. They earned their punishment. Yet this 'hero' slew my grandfather in cold blood, for something that did not concern him. Dragons have long lives, and long memories.”

“I'm sorry,” Zant said, and watched as Volga stood, expressionless. He couldn't read his face, and wouldn't know the proper response if he could. Perhaps... he could offer up his similar experiences at the hands of the Hylians? Then they could bond? Over their victory and perhaps the justice they were finally getting?

“The Hylians banished us to the Twilight Realm because they didn't like the magic we were using.” Zant offered, “My people were thrust into a world we did not understand, and the forces there changed us, altered us beyond recognition. It was a harsh, unforgiving, demonic realm. But what does not kill us, my friend, makes us stronger. Those who could not withstand the harsh magics of that world were torn asunder- I have no family left. But those of us who could... now it flows through us. It has become part of us. We take those hardships and we grow from them. We take the stones that the Hylians throw at us, and from them we build the fortresses that we use to destroy them. Your grandfather did not die in vain. No Hylian hero will slay dragons again. The Great Gannondorf has seen to that.”

“You have more faith in your god, 'my friend', than I do.” Volga responded, “Both the queen and the hero should have been put to death. The only prison that can contain them is the grave.”

Zant didn't have a response to that, so he fidgeted, ran the words over and over in his head, and still came up empty.

It was Volga who eventually broke the silence, “Shall we get to work, then?”

“The armory first, I think,” Zant said, “I don't want those sacred relics going unguarded.”

He walked through the sitting room, and opened the door to Gannondorf's sleeping chambers.

He screamed.

The hidden doorway, the one Ghirahim had sealed from prying eyes with his demonic magic- it should have been a solid wall. It should have been indistinguishable from the wall around it! But it wasn't. It was perfectly visible, as if someone had gone through it and closed the door behind them. It made no sense. But he felt it- Ghirahim's wards had been broken. Someone had gone into the armory.

He walked to the door, tried it, and it was still physically locked. He rounded on Volga, and with panic in his voice screamed, high pitched and shrill.

“DID YOU GO INTO THE ARMORY!?”

Volga shook his head, “Neither I nor anyone else have passed into these chambers.”

“WHO WENT INTO THE ARMORY!?” Zant tore at his hood- his eyes were the size of saucers and dark magic swelled around him.

“I swear on my honor that I saw no one enter or leave this room,” Volga assured him. “Maybe that Demon Lord's wards wore off. He seems to expend more magic on his own appearance than his protective spells.”

Zant had rushed to the vanity. Vaati would have had to have seen it. Vaati would have to know what was going on. He picked up the terrarium and shook it.

“Vaati! Vaati! VAATI!” He shrieked. He tore off the top and moved everything inside, but there was nothing for it- the wind mage was gone.

“WHERE THE HELL IS VAATI!?” He rounded on Volga.

“I don't know,” the dragon shrugged.

“HE WAS STRIPPED OF HIS POWER!” Zant's eyes were wild and his movements unpredictable, “HE COULD NOT HAVE ESCAPED ALONE! HE'S NOTHING BUT A LITTLE PICORI!”

“No one came in or out of these chambers,” Volga narrowed his eyes, “I will not have you shrieking at me and insulting my honor.”

“BUT HE'S GONE!” Zant continued to shriek at him.

“HUMAN,” Volga warned, and a flame darted from his mouth, “REMEMBER TO WHOM IT IS YOU SPEAK!”

“I'M FREAKING OUT!” Zant admitted. “VAATI IS GONE AND SOMEONE HAS BEEN IN THE ARMORY! THIS WILL SURELY INSIGHT THE GREAT GANNONDORF'S WRATH!”

Volga had to see the logic in that statement, and pressed his hand to the once-hidden, now visible door. He reared back, and kicked at the lock with all his might. The wood around the mechanism splintered and came apart in shards that flew through the air, and the door slammed inward with a thud so loud both men felt it hit the opposite wall.

The armory was empty.

Every chest lay open, every sacred weapon and armor within had vanished.

“This is not ideal,” Volga admitted.

“HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!?” Zant rushed past him, clawing at every empty chest as if checking them more often would somehow make the artifacts magically reappear. His entire body shook as he stared into the largest one, the one that Ghirahim had placed under extra magical seals, the one that had, at one point, but no longer, contained the blade of evil's bane.

“WHERE IS THE MASTER SWORD!?” He shrieked, and clawed at his hood with such ferocity that the fabric ripped, and his hair stuck through the gashes.

“That couldn't have been stolen,” Volga would not show weakness, but panic was welling within him, “Even if Vaati escaped... even if he somehow gathered enough magical energy to pull up a human glamour, he could not steal it. He could not touch it, and it is resistant to magic.”

“IT'S GONE!” Zant shrieked, and the reality of that statement, coupled with the fact that Volga could see it was no longer in the chest, sent a shiver down both their spines.

After a pause, Volga spoke with authority when he said, “We need to get our story straight.”

“YOU HAD ONE JOB!” Zant threw out both hands in a silent prayer, begging the universe to explain to him how this could have possibly happened.

“Vaati is the only mage in the fortress capable of breaking those wards,” Volga thought aloud, “I believe you people underestimated him. Even without pulling from Gannondorf's power, he must have been able to escape and steal these things.” He held up a hand when Zant opened his mouth to speak, “But he did not get past me. I have the keen eyes of a dragon. I would have noticed him, even as small as he is. So he must still be here.”

“He isn't,” Zant lamented, “I would feel a magic that powerful. He's not here. The only magic I feel is emanating from the portal. And the only person who can come in or out of that is Yuga. It's locked to his magical signature. It's a very unique way of traveling that requires not only magical, but artistic skill.”

“Are you sure?” Volga asked, and craned his neck to see the tiny crack in reality on the wall of Gannondorf's bedroom. “Because I believe that Vaati must have used it to escape. He did not get past me.”

Zant had thrown both hands over his face and was quietly sobbing into them, and the sight disgusted the dragon. All these humans were so _weak_. He huffed again and tightened the grip on his weapon.

“Enough of your blubbering,” he said, after he had let it go on until he could no longer stand it, “You are a mage. Can you open the portal? Can you follow him?”

Zant shook his head sadly, “No. Only Yuga knows such magics.”

“Then I will pack the King's personal effects and make sure that nothing else is stolen. I will look for further clues, since your emotional state is so severe it will limit you. You will return to Hyrule Castle and interrogate this 'Yuga'. We know so little of him, it was foolish of Gannondorf to trust him. This may be his doing. It may have been his plan all along.”

Zant nodded. It was a good, straight-forward plan.

“Yes,” he said aloud, “I'll... you just keep working. I'll do that.”

He snapped his fingers, and disappeared into a portal of Twilight energy that left the air cracking, and Volga watched the space he had been as reality slowly knitted itself back together.

 

* * *

 

“Sit down at the vanity, Skychild” Ghirahim commanded, and Link was confused. He was under the assumption that they were going to meet Ganondorf, probably in his throne room or a war room or something, yet Ghrahim had led him back to the King's bedchambers. He couldn't argue, not with the command he had been given to obey Ghirahim blindly as if he were Gannondorf, so sat where he had been directed.

“I don't expect you to take care of yourself,” Ghrahim said as he snapped his fingers, and the vanity was suddenly covered in boxes and flittering, insubstantial diamonds, “But I do expect you to be presentable. If you aren't strong and healthy, you have to _pretend_. Never let them see weakness.”

Link arched an eyebrow as Ghirahim grabbed his face by both cheeks in one hand and jerked it around. He narrowed his eyes and stared hard, as if he were making some sort of decision, and then knelt to be on Link's level and stared again. After a few seconds, he released him, snapped his fingers, and his gloves vanished into the either. He opened one of the boxes and Link saw that it was full of different colored gels or creams of some sort. Ghirahim dipped a brush into one, then another, and glanced back at Link.

“Watch me closely, Skychild,” Ghirahim ordered, and Link watched with intent as he mixed the creams together on the back of his hand, “From now on, you'll be doing this every morning like the rest of us.”

Wait.

This was make-up.

Ghirahim was going to make him wear make-up? Link huffed and his eyebrows knitted together. He shook his head in protest and Ghirahim smirked.

“What's your problem now? You can look away long enough to write.”

Link cleared off a space on the vanity and wrote: _Only Hylian nobility wear make-up. I don't feel comfortable doing this._

“It amazes me,” Ghirahim seemed satisfied that whatever he had mixed was good enough for him, “That you would entertain the notion that your comfort has any bearing on anything I decide to have you do.”

Link frowned, and Ghirahim used the hand holding the brush to adjust his face.

“Don't give me that look, Skychild,” He narrowed his eyes, “I have very little time to do this and even less interest in arguing with you. Sit here and pay attention while I put on your war paint. You look exhausted and strained. I need you to look energetic and intimidating. So we're going to cover the circles under your eyes with this. Did you see how I mixed it to match the rest of your face?”

Link nodded.

“You should be able to do that in a few seconds.” Ghirahim advised and Link realized from his clinical tone that he actually wasn't trying to embarrass him, “I want you to do it every morning before I rouse my master, and before we make it to the battlefield. I never want to see a bruise or an imperfection cross you again. Not just on your face, but anywhere.”

He jerked Link's face to the mirror.

“Watch closely. I'm going to do one eye, and you will do the other.”

Link nodded, and Ghirahim dipped the brush into the cream and gently dotted it under Link's right eye. Link watched in amazement as it covered the dilated vessels in the thin skin. Once he had a good amount on, the demon lord dotted the edges with his middle finger, and the goo merged seamlessly with the rest of his face.

“Lord Ghirahim?” Link recognized Yuga's voice from the other side of the closed door.

“Come inside,” Ghirahim called, and handed Link the brush, “I expect flawlessness, Skychild.”

Link went to mix the cream, but Ghirahim looked angry, so he dipped the brush onto the gel on his outstretched hand. He noticed Yuga enter in his periphery, but was more focused on his face as he tried to mimic Ghirahim.

“I felt your energy and I thought I would ask if you would be willing to sit for a pictobox shoot,” Yuga asked, then noticed Link, “Oh! You're helping the poor boy? What a gracious heart you have.”

“I will not have my master's bodyguard or my own second-in-command looking like a street urchin,” Ghirahim explained, then turned to Link and barked, “Blend it!”

Link knew he had made a fatal mistake when he touched his face and it left grey streaks. He looked down at his hand and realized it was covered in charcoal. Ghirahim hadn't seen it yet. He was looking at Yuga.

“Pictobox?” He asked.

“Yes,” Yuga held up the device, “It captures light and imprints it onto special paper, which I can use to paint from so I don't have to have my models hold the same pose for hours.”

Link looked around for something, anything to wipe his hands and face on. His clothes were white; Ghirahim would notice it and probably use it as an excuse to beat him, and there were no cloths anywhere. He jerked his head to the side, but someone had been in the room to clean it, and there was no sign of the pallet he had slept on, so he couldn't use the bedding. He stared at Ghirahim's reflection, and wondered if he could tear a page from the journal, if it would actually take the smudges off his face.

“Perhaps tonight,” Ghirahim mused, “I won't have time before that. I have an outing with my master, then a lunch meeting with diplomats from the Zora's domain, and my afternoon is going to be absolutely devastating- trying to find some semblance of skill and order in those pathetic Hylian troops.” He turned back to Link, saw the panic, and the charcoal on his face, and Link froze.

His hands moved frantically to the journal.

_Please, Ghirahim, I'm trying._

Ghirahim snapped his fingers and produced a red cloth. He wiped the terrible job Link had done away with a sneer.

“I'll just do it! We don't have time for your foolishness!” He held the hero by one shoulder and Link watched as he glared down at him, “I don't think you're malicious, I think you're _stupid_. Hold still!”

He reared back and slapped Link in the side of the head so hard that if he had not been holding him he would have slammed into the vanity. He felt his brain rattle, and his vision blurred, so he closed his eyes and put on hand to the place where he felt the pain radiating outward. He expected to see blood when he opened his eyes, and was shocked when he didn't.

“See how I controlled where I hit you?” Ghirahim asked, “We can hide the bruise with your hair.”

Link slowly nodded.

“Why is he using charcoal?” Yuga asked as Ghirahim quickly finished the other eye and jerked Link's face looking for more bruises or spots that might need covering.

“I don't know. There's something wrong with him. He can't speak.” Ghirahim was annoyed, but he was masking it well. Link shuddered as he felt his breath on his face and summoned his bravery to crack open one eye. It looked like Ghirahim was blowing on the cream to dry it.

“Here, fallen hero,” Yuga chuckled, and held something out, but Link didn't dare move his face from where Ghirahim held it, and just reached out a hand in the direction of the voice. It closed around a metal tube, and he wished he could thank the artist for whatever he had just given him.

Ghirahim was moving something stiff over him now, like a powder, and after a few seconds blew that away too, then wiped it off with a brush, so Link was confused as to why he had put it on at all.

“Open your eyes, Skychild,” Ghirahim barked and Link looked up at him. He was holding some type of pigment stick that was such a dark green it was almost black, “If you close your eyes I will make you regret it, do you understand?” To Yuga he added, “Remind me, after I'm finished, to tell him he can blink.”

Link shot a glance to the thing in his hand. It was a smooth metal stick with a button on the top. He pressed it, heard a click, and a quill seemed to shoot from the bottom. He stared at it in incomprehension, and clicked it again. The quill disappeared.

“Skychild,” Ghirahim warned, and Link shot his eyes back to his face. The stick hovered dangerous close, and he just knew he was going to stab him in the eye.

But he didn't. He moved it in fast, light strokes all around his eye without actually touching it, first his left, then his right.

“Close your eyes,” Ghirahim seemed to have lost all desire for conversation, he was back to simple commands as if he were training a dog. Link obeyed, felt the brush of bristles, then of Ghirahim's fingers.

“You may do what you like with your eyes,” Ghirahim was having difficulty keeping the annoyance out of his voice.

“So tell me,” Yuga sounded positively excited, “What is your deal with the Demon King? He seems absolutely taken with you. You introduced yourself as a Lord.”

Ghirahim was staring at Link as he dipped a finger into another cream and then ran it over Link's lips.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, then in a much friendlier tone, replied, “How positively curious of you, Yuga. Do all royal employees pry so much in Lorule?”

“One cannot fault the Great Gannondorf for exquisite taste,” was the artist's reply, “I was merely wondering if I was speaking to a Lord or a Prince Regent.”

Ghirahim spared him a glance, caught the face that told him Yuga was absolutely sincere, and a smile formed on his own lips. He had been forced into company he considered below him for the entire morning, and it had left him in a sour mood, but to hear the question asked genuinely seemed to perk him up.

“Press your lips together, Skychild, and look in the mirror. I will teach you how to do this yourself when you have more time.” He turned to Yuga, wiped his hands on the cloth, and tossed it onto the vanity, “To answer your question, I am completely devoted to my master, and I ask for no such titles.” He snapped his fingers and retrieved his gloves from the either, and slowly slid them on.

“He's a lucky man,” Yuga said as he watched the gloves slide slowly down Ghirahim's arms. The way his eyes lingered elicited a giggle from the demon.

“He creates his own luck,” Ghirahim smiled.

Link was captivated with his reflection. He wished he had been paying more attention, because whatever Ghirahim had done, it had completely transformed him. He had been frightened that Ghirahim would have made him look like a Hylian noble, all rosy cheeks and costumery, or like himself, intimidating and theatrical. But instead he looked like himself, but a more awake and fierce version of himself. His eyes were huge in his face, set off with a thin, almost impercievable layer of that deep green outlining them. His lips looked fuller, moist and healthy, his face also looked fuller, less sallow.

It was the best he could ever remember looking in his life.

He clicked the metal tube and put the quill to paper to see if it would work. Ink flowed from it as if it had been dipped so he assumed it was enchanted. He began to write, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile spread his face.

 

_Dear Mr Yuga_

_I don't know what this thing is or what enchantment drives it, but you will never know how much it means to me or how much it has improved my life. I have difficulty speaking, and until Ghirahim and Gannondorf gave me this journal (which I also suspect to be enchanted, because no matter how many pages I pull from it, it never gets any lighter), I had no way to communicate at all. This quill makes it possible for me to express the deep gratitude I feel._

_Thank you,_

_Link._

 

 _Dear-_ Link stopped writing to chuckle, but quickly continued.

_Dear Fabulous Demon Lord Ghirahim,_

_I want to thank you for not just my face, because it does look a thousand times better, but also for the way you treated Shadow earlier. He completely broke down. So that was weird. I really want you to show me how to do this. You confuse and vex me. You go from hatred to kindness in the blink of an eye. My head hurts really bad, but it looks so good. I wish I knew how to stay on your good side. I think I might have a concussion. You hit really hard. I don't think you know how hard it is. Your flesh is like steel. But thank you. For the make-up. Please don't bitch slap me again._

_Link_

 

He folded the papers and darted up, still wearing that smile. He even waited for a break in the conversation before holding them out. They both took them, and Ghirahim ran his fingers through Link's hair, trying to get it lay flat over the place he had bruised.

“My responses, Skychild, are varied,” he said at length. “Firstly, I told you and that shadow demon that we would speak of those events no more. So now I will have to punish you for bringing it up. I do not need your approval for my actions. Secondly, you are welcome, and I expect you to do this every morning, and set it properly. You are now a reflection of my master, and by extension me. It seems that you will be working under me in our attempt to turn your comrades into decent soldiers. Thirdly, stop complaining, I didn't hit you that hard. If you want an example of real pain with which to compare it, I will be happy to provide it. And finally,” He smiled, folded the paper several times, and threw it over his shoulder where it dissolved in a flicker of diamonds, “It warms my dark heart to see that you are finally beginning to accept your place. I don't think you just lied to me.”

The grip on Link's hair tightened and he winced in pain as it pulled his bruised scalp. Ghirahim turned to face him, and Link didn't like the way the madness in his smile reached his eyes.

“Do you remember when I told you that you would spend your life thinking only of how to please me? How to 'stay on my good side'? I'm keeping all these letters, Skychild, because I want to document that change, that journey. I want to be able to read these things, written in your own hand, aloud to you once you've finally accepted your new lot in life. I'll have you on your knees begging for the mercy that I do not posses. This first step has pleased me greatly,” he ran the fingertips of his free hand down Link's face as the fallen hero stared up at him with fear in his eyes, “I think you deserve a reward.”

Link was amazed that he had given that little speech in front of Yuga, and his panicked eyes shot in the artist's direction, begging for help. He didn't seem like a bad person, not like everyone else. He wasn't his captor. He wasn't even from Hyrule. He had no stake in this war or in his status as a prisoner. He tried, wide eyed and frightened.

 _Please_ , he thought, _help me. Take this goddamn stone off of my forehead._

“Don't look at Yuga,” Ghirahim laughed and stood back to his full height, “Yuga isn't going to help you.”

Link's shoulders slumped.

“YUGA!” Zant appeared in a flash of Twilight so suddenly that all three men were startled, and Link was confused that Ghirahim's instinctual reaction to the unknown seemed to have been to step protectively in front of him. He peered around his back to see the panicked Twil shaking Yuga by the shoulders.

“That boy!” Zant shrieked, “The one you brought with you! Your assistant!”

“Ravio?” Yuga asked, startled and confused.

“Is he a mage?” Zant shook him again, “Tell me! You have doomed us all!”

“Calm down,” Ghirahim put one hand on Zant's shoulder.

“He isn't my assistant all the time,” Yuga explained, staring into Zant's crazed eyes as if he were unable to look away, “He's a friend of mine. We both work for the Lorulian royal family. He's a knight in service to the princess and often acts as my bodyguard. We're together quite a bit so I'm trying to teach him to paint. The poor thing has no talent and a crippling social anxiety. That's why he always wears a mask.”

 _Crippling social anxiety_ , Link thought as he played with the journal in his hands. He thought that it may be easier for him to speak with people, actually, if he knew they couldn't see his face.

“Not a mage?” Zant asked.

“Why are you so emotional, friend?” Ghirahim asked, and Link noted his voice was much kinder. He was becoming accustomed to his mood swings, and he didn't like the idea that he could become accustomed to these terrible people.

“The master sword is gone!” Zant hissed, and Ghirahim brushed it aside as if it meant nothing.

“Impossible,” Ghirahim assured him, “I wrote those wards myself. No one could break them, and no one could summon it except me. They couldn't even touch it. Here, if I hold it, will it reassure you?”

He snapped his fingers.

He seemed confused when nothing happened, stepped back a little, and snapped again.

And again.

And again.

His confusion turned to rage.

“How the hell!?” He screamed, “Where is it!? WHERE IS SHE!? I'LL KILL HER! I TOLD MASTER TO LET ME SHATTER HER WHEN I HAD HER IN MY HAND! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!?”

“The best we could figure,” Zant explained, and Ghirahim's rage had done nothing to quell his panic, “Vaati escaped-”

“HOW DID VAATI ESCAPE!?” Ghirahim shrieked, and Link watched the darkness seep up his skin.

“We think Ravio let him out. Someone would have had to physically let him out,” Zant answered, “And the only way in or out of that room is through the portal Yuga created. But if Ravio is not a mage and cannot travel dimensions, that cannot be the case. He has to still be in the fortress somewhere.”

“Ravio... can use the portal.” Yuga confessed, with his eyes downcast, “I enchanted him so that he could follow me. This sword you speak of... is it valuable?”

Link nodded frantically, but Ghirhaim answered for him.

“It houses a sword spirit and dispels negative energy! It is a demon-slayer! A mruderess! The thing lives only to destroy! She feels no emotion, has no pity! She is a weapon without mercy! I am her sister-blade, I have seen the pain she has wrought! We need to get that thing back before Master notices it is gone! How could Volga have messed up this bad!? He had but a SINGLE job!” Ghirahim was livid.

“The entire armory has been looted,” Zant held his face in his hands.

“That little thief!” Yuga hissed, “This is my fault! I shouldn't have brought him! If there's anything valuable that isn't nailed down, he will steal it. But look. We have to be solution oriented. It isn't that bad. That boy only cares about himself, his station, and his personal wealth. Everything else is secondary. He's a coward, he won't actually use any of the weapons he's stolen. If we have any money, we can buy them back. He's going to sell them all. That's... that's what he does. He swore he would behave himself.”

“He's being manipulated!” Ghirahim massaged his temples, “We should have crushed Vaati. We were arrogant. We shouldn't have played with him. But how did they steal the master sword? How did they transport it? The boy couldn't possibly wield it, not the boy you describe.”

No one said anything, because no one had an answer.

“GHIRAHIM!” came a booming voice from the hall, and Ghirahim's form flickered, then disappeared.

“It is an honor to be summoned, master,” he said form the hallway, and the three remaining men rushed to the door to eavesdrop.

“Where the hell have you been?” Gannondorf asked, “You left me alone with those Hylians all morning. I told you to get Link dressed and get his things. It's taken you nearly two hours.”

“I'm sorry, master,” Ghirahim begged, “I let time get away from me. That artist you hired asked me to sit for a pictobox portrait, and I admit that it is a flaw of mine that I am sometimes overly verbose on the subject of my own beauty. I realized my lateness before you told me, and I deserve any punishment you deem me worthy of receiving.”

“You would not believe the idiocy I had to endure in your absence,” Gannondorf still sounded angry.

“I'm sorry, master,” Ghirahim sounded wounded, “I understand your anger. This is my fault. I was afraid we would miss the tour of the capital. I take full responsibility. I've been delayed all morning by nonsense that I should not allowed to graze my attention.”

“What other nonsense?” Gannondorf asked, and it seemed as if he were calming little by little.

“I got the Skychild dressed as you asked,” Ghirahim explained, but Gannondorf cut him off.

“His name is Link,” he said, and Link was confused because the way he said it, it sounded as if he were defending him.

“Would you like me to call him 'Link'?” Ghirahim asked.

“No,” Gannondorf sighed, and it was the exasperated sigh of someone who is out of anger, out of energy, and who is prepared to calm themselves, “No, I don't care what you call him. It just makes no sense to anyone except us.”

“Well I got him dressed, and he said he was concerned over his appearance, and I agreed, so I took time to make him presentable.”

“Ghirahim,” Gannondorf's voice was cold, “You're not telling me that you left me alone with those Hylians so that you could come up here and play dress-up. I refuse to believe that because if it's true I may actually kill you before I catch myself.”

“I have no excuse, master. I got carried away. I am flawed.” Ghirahim sounded as if he were about to cry, “I do not beg for mercy, master. If you wish death upon me, I will accept it with as much dignity as I can muster, and my last wish will be that shattering my soul brings you some small measure of comfort.”

“By Din's glowing eyes, Ghirahim, do you have to make everything so dramatic?” Gannondorf asked, “I am mad at you, though. Now get your shit and let's get this tour over with. And why the hell is Zant in my bedroom? I can feel him in there. Was he helping you? Have you all just been up here pretending the fallen hero is your little doll instead of working?”

“Master,” Ghirahim finally had the gall to sound offended, “Do you honestly think that I would trust Zant to help me with a makeover after what he did to your glorious hair?”

“They're opening the door!” Yuga warned, “Everyone look casual!”

Link flew back to the vanity and sat down with terror in his eyes. Zant flailed in his own panic and spun in small circles before settling down to sit on the bed, and just as the door opened Yuga pulled out his sketch pad. All three tried very hard not to look up as Gannondorf entered. Ghirahim was amazed at how they all managed to look the exact opposite of casual, and rested his face in one hand.

“Why the hell is everyone in my room?” Gannondorf asked.

The three of them looked at each other, and Gannondorf's gaze steadily moved from one to the other, before it settled on Link. The demon king ran his eyes over his face, those big, expressive eyes, the smooth full lips, and let his gaze dip lower. The tank top hugged the lean muscle of his torso, and came to a stop at his lower back, where only the faintest traces of scars could be seen on his flesh. Those shorts ended almost as soon as they began, and his small, powerful legs were tucked under the stool, trembling as if he were nervous, or frightened. Link was trying to keep his face neutral, trying not to show how happy he was that Fi had escaped, even if it were with a stranger.

“Boy,” Gannondorf said at length, “Stand up. Let me get a look at you.”

Link stood as if he had been called to attention in line with other soldiers, and squaring his shoulders, standing up straight, and pushing out the muscles in his chest only made the sight easier to take in. It pushed the fabric of the top up, exposing the muscles of his stomach, and his hands neatly folded in his lower back and over his heart left the rest of his body on display.

“Well,” Ganondorf huffed, “At least you did a good job of it.”

“Thank you master,” Ghirahim said demurely, as if he were well aware of the fact that he was still in trouble.

“Zant,” Gannondof commanded, “I want a full report on the status of the Gerudo Fortress as we take our little tour. Now, everyone come on.”

He turned on his heel, and Ghirahim looked over his shoulder before hurrying after him.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy masks make happy people!
> 
> http://37.media.tumblr.com/4ed941886a2574a8742715ee9e4dbdde/tumblr_mpngpr85Qx1qe4qdfo1_500.jpg
> 
> https://www.zeldadungeon.net/wiki/images/f/f7/Gerudo-Mask-OoT-Description.png
> 
> http://pm1.narvii.com/6194/e7507e2a4b08605c374dcffc624a0d906fcc8a54_hq.jpg
> 
> http://pa1.narvii.com/6439/e1bfc5ffc58f9c427512767d936ecafd4d5843f5_hq.gif

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote a much longer chapter but my computer fucked up and I lost it with no hope of recovery. So I rewrote it and I feel like this chapter is much worse than the original.
> 
> As always, I have a Ko-Fi account: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

“Such a good girl,” Gannondorf smiled as he stroked the nose of the warhorse standing before him, “Who's daddy's good girl? Is it you, Nightmare? Is it you?”

Link stared with incomprehension at the thing he was seeing. The war-horse, apparently named Nightmare, was larger than Epona, more muscled. Her dark fur slicked over her smooth muscles, and as an expert equestrian, Link had to admit that she was beautiful. Unfortunately, she hadn't been broken in the slightest, and when the Hylian groomsmen went to prepare her for the excursion, she had fought and kicked so fiercely that both of them had to be taken to the healer for potions and recovery. Yet Gannondorf had been angry at them, and when one of them dared to ask if she had been properly broken he flew into a rage and didn't seem to understand the concept. And now he was petting her up, rewarding her with attention, which Link, and anyone else who worked with animals, knew was just going to make her even more difficult to control.

“You wouldn't let those weak little Hylians touch you, would you, my beauty?” Gannondorf asked, and Nightmare threw back her head and whinnied in a way that was almost a laugh. Link huffed.

“Well come on, gorgeous,” Gannondorf motioned toward the stables, “Looks like daddy will have to dress you my damn self. If you want something done right around here...” He grumbled under his breath and walked past Link.

“Oh stop being a little bitch,” Ghirahim was saying to the horse he was trying to mount. The horse reared back on his hind legs and made to flee, but Ghirahim gripped the reigns, “As if I care. Look, I wouldn't be riding at all unless my master had demanded it. Teleportation is faster and more graceful. He has a soft spot for your kind, so I suggest you appreciate it. Now stop complaining.”

Link sighed again.

Zant tapped Ghirahim on the shoulder and the demon turned just as Link stepped into the stall behind them to mount Epona.

“Ghirahim,” Zant whispered.

“What?” Ghirhaim tried to hide his annoyance.

“We can't hide this from him. Not with all the weapons missing. I don't think the 'get it back before he notices it's missing' plan is going to work.” Zant admitted, speaking quickly and quietly.

“I am aware,” Ghirahim huffed, “Besides, I would never hide anything from my master.” He turned his attention back to the horse as it jerked its head to try to get away from him, “Creature, I warn you now that if you continue to defy me I will slay you where you stand.” Then he addressed Zant, “So I think that we... wait until he has calmed down. He is still justifiably angry with me for wasting the morning. I think that perhaps we should wait until tonight, when his mortal body tired from the exertion of the day, after I have pleasured him and his mood has improved. I feel that the news would be less likely to incite his wrath.”

“But every second we spend here is a second Vaati is loose upon Lorule!” Zant fidgeted, “Should we really be wasting time on this outing?”

“It is important for my master's image to prove that he fears no assassins in his own kingdom,” Ghirahim replied with the air of someone who knew the things of which they spoke, “He has to show these Hylians that they don't get to them, that he has conquered their hero and he fears no one.”

“But-” Zant began but Ghirahim cut him off.

“How the hell does one even get on this annoying creature?” Ghirahim snarled.

“But-” Zant tried again.

“Zant, I understand your concern, but I will hear no more of this,” Ghirahim barked.

Gannondorf rode into the main area, looking regal, and Link stared at him. He had never really paid attention on the battlefield, but Gannondorf and his horse matched. It wasn't to his taste, but it was obvious that the demon king took as much pride in the appearance of his mount as he did with himself. He chucked when he noticed that the stirrups had little skulls on them. It suited Gannondorf, and he wasn't even sure that it was an intimidation tactic. The man just seemed to like darkness, kind of like Shadow. It might be nothing more than a personal aesthetic choice.

He had never thought Gannondorf would be the kind of man to care for animals.

“Master,” Ghirhaim asked in annoyance as his horse tried to rear again, “How do you work these things?”

“He doesn't like your negativity,” Gannondorf explained, “You must be gentle.”

Ghirahim huffed, “Master, I could easily teleport us-”

“I don't need more bullshit out of you, Ghirahim,” Gannondorf narrowed his eyes, “Get on the horse.”

Zant had run, full force at breakneck speed, and leaped the gate to climb onto his own mount, but it took a great deal more coxing for Ghirahim to make it onto the saddle, and Link watched with laughter welling within him. It was obvious that the demon had never ridden, or even interacted with horses before, because he didn't know the most basic things. He had difficulty even pulling himself up, and once he was sitting, which took more time than it should have, he had no idea how to get the horse to do anything he wanted.

“Creature I swear by my dark god,” Ghirahim hissed, and the horse bucked. “Stop it!” Ghirahim screamed in a panic and grabbed at the reigns.

“No... what are you... he thinks you want him to rear when you do... Have you never ridden a horse before?” Gannondorf's rage was building, “Lean forward and slack the reigns.”

“This creature torments me!” Ghirahim screamed, and the laughter welling within Link finally burst free.

“You think this is funny, Skychild?” Ghirahim asked.

Gannondorf reached out and swiped the reigns from Ghirahim's hands, leaving him nothing to hold onto so he grabbed at the horse's mane.

“Don't pull his hair,” Gannondorf growled, and Ghirahim threw both hands into the air as Gannondorf pulled forward slightly and the horse returned to all four feet, “He's afraid of you.”

“Good!” Ghirhaim snapped.

“No, it isn't. Your mount is an extension of yourself. Listen to me closely, because it never occurred to me that I would have to teach anyone who isn't a  _ child  _ how to handle a horse. Take these back. When we start moving, you will  _ gently  _ use them to nudge his head in the direction you want to go. If you pull with all your might like that, he  _ will  _ rear up again, and if he bucks you off, we are all going to laugh at you, even Link. Look how tiny he is. See how he guides a creature much bigger and stronger than himself?”

Ghirahim grumbled, but when Gannondorf handed him back the reigns he held them much more loosely. Zant rode up to the group and smiled, then waved at each of them in turn, in a desperate attempt to do something with his body. It was trying to contain his worry, and having a difficult time of it, but he didn't want to flail around and spook his horse.

“Now,” Gannondorf explained, “We ride into castle town, and I want everyone here looking as noble as possible.”

“I always look noble, master,” Ghirahim sounded offended.

“Yeah, you think that, but if you're not an experienced rider you'll jostle,” Ganondorf explained.

“Master, I know that you have lost faith in me, but I assure you that my composure and grace cannot be thwarted by a mere  _ beast _ ,” Ghirahim held the reigns in one hand and used the other to flip his hair, “My beauty is not constrained to the whims of an animal.”

“Then we ride!” Gannondorf reared back the reigns and Nightmare drew to her full height as her rider's cape billowed behind him. Link thought the sight would make a beautiful statue.

 

Link was not satisfied with the formation in which they rode. It was the dumbest possible way they could have done it. The king should, by all rights, be in the middle of the party, flanked on either side by his generals. Link, as the bodyguard, should be in front, where he could see any potential threats, and a second bodyguard should be in the rear to check for anyone coming up behind them.

Instead, Gannondorf rode fully exposed at the front of the party, Zant and Ghirahim rode slightly behind him, and Link found himself in the main back, where he could barely see past the king's bulk, let alone keep an eye out for attacks. So he was happy that the ride was a short one, and it took practically no time for them to arrive in the center of town, where they rode in a sort of promenade for a bit, before the king was satisfied that everyone was taken by his intimidating beauty, and they were able to dismount.

“Well,” Ghirahim, who was happy to be back on solid ground, said as he let his eyes scan the town, “I must say, master, that it isn't as bad as I thought it would be.”

“The secret,” Gannondorf explained, “Is low expectations. Hyrule Castle Town is not exactly a beacon of commerce, so if you go in expecting the grandeur of the demon realm, you're going to be disappointed.”

Link squared his shoulders and glared up at the king in defiance. The Hylian Market absolutely was a hub of commerce, unmatched by any other tribe in Hyrule. Hylian merchants traveled far and wide to every corner of the kingdom to spread their system and their wares, and to suggest otherwise was absolutely ridiculous. He considered putting pen to paper to voice his feelings, but Shadow materialized from a puddle on the ground and broke his concentration.

“Zant,” Shadow said in a stage whisper, “Zaaaaaaaant. Psssssst. Zaaaaaaaant.”

“We can all hear you,” Gannondorf told him, “You're standing in front of us.”

“Yeah, but,” Shadow realized that he didn't really have a proper way to finish that thought, and decided instead to pretend that his next statement would make sense without it, “I promised Zant I'd get his mask fixed. I know a guy.”

“You 'know a guy'?” Ghirahim mocked.

“I know a lot of guys,” Shadow flashed a cocky smile, “But yeah, I know a mask guy. Zant, come on.”

“We stay together,” Gannondorf informed him, “We do not yet have the loyalty of these Hylians, and I trust none of them to restrain from putting an arrow in your backs.”

“Well fine,” Shadow huffed, “Whatever. Then everyone can come with me. To the mask shop! But I gotta tell you, Zant, this guy is good, but he's expensive. So be ready to lay down some cash.”

“I do need it...” Zand fumbled his hands together inside his sleeves, “So I don't mind.”

 

The atmosphere in the shop was overpowering. It seemed as though the shopkeep had tried to create the illusion of friendly, welcoming intentions, with upbeat music and lighting, but there was a choking amount of incense, and there was something about the place that made one's soul yearn for escape. It just didn't seem... right. It didn't seem as if it belonged where it was. It seemed out of place in a Hylian marketplace, though the man standing behind the counter smiling was almost certainly Hylian.

“Happy Maskman!” Shadow exclaimed with open arms, as if he didn't feel the same unease as Link, “Been a long time!”

“Oh, Link, my boy,” the smile on the merchant's face grew wider as he addressed him, “It absolutely has. Have you returned for another job?”

“Nah,” Shadow explained, and drug Zant to the counter, “I have a job for you. This is my buddy, Zant, high priest of Hyrule, and he has a mask he needs repaired.”

Zant waved his hand and a portal of twilight appeared behind him. His mask, now in fragments, floated from within, and he took them delicately out of the air. As the portal closed, he caught the shopkeep staring at it, not, like most Hylians did, with a look of fear, but with a look of  _ recognition _ . The man nodded and held out his hands for the mask.

“This is an exquisite work of art,” The maskman said when Zant handed it to him, “Oh, I feel great things within this mask... sculpted by an interloper to hold the power of a god. It's been a long time since I was able to work with something this...  _ amazing _ . It holds no soul, the power is channeled through a cleric. Tell me, friend, are you that cleric?”

“I am!” Zant exclaimed, surprised and delighted that anyone could see the mask for what it was.

“You must be quite powerful,” the merchant said, and let his eyes wander up and down Zant's form, “No normal mortal could wield a magic so great. Your skill must be beyond compare.”

“Thank you!” Zand put one hand to his chest, partially to conceal his embarrassment, and partially because he was so taken aback by the mere merchant's knowledge of the Twil mask.

Shadow was well aware of what was happening before him, and decided to excuse himself from the conversation. He slowly backed away, until he bumped into Ghirahim.

“Watch where your movements take you,” Ghirahim said, but in a tone that implied he was bored, uninterested. He was standing next to Gannondorf, looking at a mask that seemed to only hold his interest in the most cursory way. The king, however, was staring intently at the mask he had picked up, running his fingertips lightly over the surface. The sight of the thing was apparently enough to make his eyes mist up, and his form shudder slightly.

The mask he held bore the face of a Gerudo warrior. It was not something that Ganondorf had expected to see in a Hylian shop. He felt each part of the face, the large eyes, the painted lips, the dark skin and red hair that matched his own. He didn't know who this warrior was, in particular, but it was the first Gerudo face he had seen other than his own since his resurrection. She called to him, across time and space. He knew that he must posses the mask. But more importantly, he must know where it came from.

“Shopkeep,” he said, and it put an end to the conversation the maskman was having with Zant as he turned his full attention on the king, “What is this?”

“Ah,” the merchant smiled, “that mask is made in the likeness of a Gerudo warrior, your majesty. I feel it... the power within that mask calls to you. I would charge you nothing, it calls so strongly. That mask is happy to have found you, and I have always said that happy masks make happy people. Please take it, my king, for it was never mine, it has been yours since you laid eyes upon it.”

“I will,” Ganondorf assured him, “But where did you find it?”

“In the kingdom of Termina, my king,” The maskman explained, “I travel far and wide in my journeys- I am a collector of rare and delectable beauty. That mask, in particular, I found in a deserted fortress, on a lake near a stone temple. There was great magic about the place, but it was faded.”

“There are Gerudo in Termina?” Gannondorf's eyes shot open as the information hit him, and a look of awe spread across his features. They have survived. His people have survived!

“No, my king, not that I am aware,” The maskman seemed to feel a great sorrow at delivering this news, “As I said, the magic had faded, and the place was completely deserted. I feel that there had been no one living there for some time. I came across no other traveler as I passed. I fear the mask, and the model it depicts, were ancient relics, and whoever this warrior is, for I feel the spirit of a warrior, she no longer walks among the living.”

Gannondorf's face fell.

“You are the first Gerudo, my great king,” The maskman told him with great solemnity, “That I have seen for more than a century.”

Link cocked his head. Hylians didn't live to see centuries, but no one else seemed to notice or care what the man had said.

“Take it, my king,” the merchant begged, “It calls to you. It's desire would drive me mad if you were to refuse my gift.”

“I will,” Gannondorf nodded and handed the mask to Ghirahim, “Transport this safely to my chambers.”

Ghirahim nodded, snapped his fingers, and the mask disappeared in a flurry of diamonds.

“You've dropped it off, Zant,” Gannondorf drew his shoulders square to hide the uneasy feelings brewing within him, “So we should be going.”

“Wait,” the maskman held out one hand, “You, boy.”

“Me?” Ghirahim sneered. No one would dare talk to him in such a disrespectful manner, “Perhaps you don't know who I am. I am Demon Lord-”

“Come here,” the merchant beckoned, and Ghirahim had no intention to obey, but the strange atmosphere of the shop drew him in, compelled him to listen to whatever it was this strange little man had to say. He leaned over the counter, imposing and powerful, braced with both hands, and lowered his face to meet the man's eyes, but they were closed.

“My name,” Ghirahim began, but the salesman cut him off with a whisper.

“You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?” The maskman asked.

“What?” Ghirahim startled.

The maskman seemed full of concern when he reached forward and gently placed his hand over one of Ghirahim's on the counter. He even reluctantly set the broken mask of Zant's under the counter to do it, to give him his full attention. Ghirahim was too shocked even for anger.

“Don't-” Ghirahim began, but the merchant cut him off again.

“Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. However, that parting need not last forever... Whether a parting be forever or merely for a short time... That is up to you. “ The shopkeep actually opened his eyes, and Ghirahim noted that they were red.

“No,” Ghirahim tore his eyes away, and closed them. He couldn't let this little creep's words get to him. He couldn't show how badly it hurt, how much sorrow welled within him. He should convert it to rage and rip his head from his shoulders. He had to be strong. He couldn't crack, not in front of Link, and certainly not in front of his master. He had to hide it, had to hide these emotions.

He had to wear the mask.

“No,” he said, when he was certain he wouldn't cry, “Demise is dead. He's gone. The parting will last forever.”

The merchant tilted his head, studying Ghirahim's face, and it was obvious that he was an expert at seeing beyond the things people tried to conceal. He slowly reached up with his free hand, and moved the hair out of the way to take in his entire face. Ghirahim scowled at the boldness.

“Don't  _ touch _ me,” he scowled, but the shopkeep showed no fear.

“Your true face... What kind of... face is it? I wonder... The face under the mask... Is that... your true face? “ He asked, almost more to himself than to the demon.

“I'm leaving,” Ghirahim pulled away and whipped his head so that the hair fell back over his face. He jerked his hand away and turned on his heel to storm off. As he passed, Link could hear him murmuring under his breath, something about burning that shop to the ground.

“Believe in your strengths!” The salesman warned, “Believe-”

“Oh,” Ghirahim stopped in the doorway, and his voice was as cold as ice, “I do.”

He stepped outside and slammed the door so hard the entire shop rattled.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hylians are going to have a hell of a time adjusting to an economy where property damage decreases one's personal wealth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of dumb slice-of-life stuff. I'd been out of the game too long and needed to ease myself back in before I hit up plot or smut. But they're both on the menu.

“Well that's great,” Ganondorf grumbled.

When the group had stepped outside there was no trace of the sword demon to be found, so the demon king stood, and held up a hand for silence. He was playing a dangerous game. Ghirahim was easily the most powerful mage in Hyrule, with a power that almost met his own, even without pulling from the triforce, and he wasn't particularly sure how. And, since his terrible drunken mistake, he was forced into depending on his own cunning to make the best use of an effective weapon. He had to make a choice, figure out what he needed Ghirahim to think, and act on it.

Zelda may be known for her wisdom, but Ganondorf was no fool. He was used to controlling entire kingdoms across different dimensions from behind the scenes. His plans were often machavelian, but he was good at understanding and manipulating people. He knew about Demise, as much a person could know their own soul, but a past life did not control a person. Lots of people believed in reincarnation, and were Ganondorf not skilled in the arts of divination, he could have lived his entire long life without ever knowing that Demise existed.

The demon lord, Ganondorf understood, believed that they were long-lost, star-crossed lovers, ripped apart by the hands of fate; by the hands of an angry goddess. But Ganondorf felt nothing for him, and had never been particularly good at relationships. He hadn't ever had that connection, and wondered if he would recognize it if he felt it. He didn't feel it now, and it bothered him. Surely he should feel some kind of emotion, some kind of devotion beyond what he felt for a general, underling, or friend? He felt no more for Ghirahim than he did for Zant, but he knew he _should_. If he really had been Demise's lover, shouldn't they be soulmates? Shouldn't their souls be connected?

His entire body froze, muscles tight as he felt a warm magic flow through him. It radiated from his arm and shot down his spine, then flowed out through his nervous system, lighting everything it touched. His hand began to glow, and he looked down to see the triforce activate. He jerked his head to the source of the magic, and found Link tugging at his arm and holding up the journal.

The sentence written there was simple, but Link wasn't looking at it, he was looking at the back of his own hand; the one that still rested on Ganondorf's arm, where the symbol was also glowing.

_Where did he go?_ Asked the book, so Ganondorf decided to respond. He opened his mind and traced Ghirahim's unique magical signature.

“He's in that tailor's shop,” He answered, and jerked his arm away. Link nodded.

“Oh, good!” Zant smiled, “He does love his appearance! Maybe vanity will make him feel better! He sure did leave in a bad mood.”

“Well, that sounds like the definition of none of my business,” Shadow shrugged, “Hey, Big-G, I have a question.”

“I can't imagine I would be interested in it,” Ganondorf huffed as he took off in a confident stride toward to tailor's shop.

“So are you gonna start paying me, or...?” Shadow asked.

“You're not being paid?” Ganondorf seemed taken aback, “I guess you aren't. Yes, you need to be on the payroll. Remind me. I have to go over the finances for the entire kingdom.”

Link stared at Shadow in confusion, and tried to push his thoughts to the front of his mind. He thought he was beginning to understand their psychic connection. He focused, and thought:  _Why would he pay you?_

“Uh,” Shadow stared back, “Because I'm a goddamn war hero who helped overthrow a tyrant and capture a legendary hero? And also, I'm just badass. I assume I'll be trying to train the Hylian military at some point. Remember when I jumped on that sword? That was awesome.”

“Was he confused by that?” Ganondorf asked, “Boy, tell me that the Hylian military  _is_ paid, right? They are compensated for risking their lives?”

“Oh, wait, I know this one!” Shadow jumped with his hand in the air, “The army is paid but most Links aren't.”

“If the queen doesn't reward you for herosim,” Zant asked, “How do you survive? How do you eat? Or pay for shelter?”

“Zant,” Ganondorf stopped in the doorway to the shop and held up a hand, “Don't. Don't ask that question. I'm afraid that if he answers it your head might explode. Imagine the stupidest possible answer you can think of. It's still not going to be as stupid as his real answer.”

“Stupidest possible answer...” Zant thought aloud, “He's a hero, so... thievery?”

“I'm not having this conversation,” Ganondorf decided, and walked inside the shop. He didn't break stride or respond to the sound of shattering clay, but walked directly to where Ghirahim bent over the counter, talking with the tailor and sliding across a sketch. When he rested both hands on Ghirahim's shoulders he felt the demon tense.

“I'm sorry,” was the first thing out of Ghirahim's mouth, “Master, I know you said to stay together, but you also told me I wasn't supposed to kill any Hylians and that little  _wretch_ got under my skin, riled up my bloodlust and... I could feel it. I could feel his blood pulsing under his flesh, feel the heat of it, the life flowing through him, the breath in his lungs and I  _saw_ myself  _silencing_ it. How dare that vile creature speak to me- speak to  _you_ with such familiarity.”

“Quiet, pet,” Ganondorf advised, and Ghirahim melted. Ganondorf Dragmire may not posses the triforce of wisdom, but he was a wise man, and with a single phrase the most powerful demon he had ever met turned to putty in his hands. He added, because the smallest acts of kindness seemed to increase the demon's lord's devotion, “Are you alright?”

Ghirahim was still facing away from Ganondorf, toward the counter, towards the tailor, and he glared at her, because the answer was no, but he would not show weakness in from of a mere merchant. He ran a hand through his hair, and spun to face his king. He rested the palms of his hands gently on Ganondorf's broad chest and took a deep breath.

“I'm fine, master,” he lied, “I did not let my rage overpower me, but I still disobeyed you. I can only ask for forgiveness. I will trust your judgment and take whatever punishment you deem worthy and WHAT THE HELL IS THAT CRASHING NOISE!?”

“Ignore it. Link and Shadow are destroying everything in the hopes that there will be money inside it,” Ganondorf explained, but the statement was so stupid that Ghirahim wasn't sure he had heard it correctly until Link ran full force, tucked, and rolled into the counter he was leaning against, shaking everything on it.

“What the hell?” Ghirahim asked, realized that he had clung to Ganondorf's robes in shock, and gently smoothed them out. His eyes darted to Shadow, who had picked up a clay pot and watched as he threw it against the wall. Zant flailed, then ran to the counter to stand behind Ganondorf.

“Why are you destroying everything!?” Ghirahim demanded as Link stood, and did not appear dazed, as if he rolled headfirst into things fairly frequently.

“Don't engage them,” Ganondorf advised.

Ghirahim held up one hand and gestured at the two of them, who were still smashing everything they could get their hands on, for no reason that he could figure out, and looked at Ganondorf in confusion.

“I don't know what to tell- by Din you're both making the same face,” Ganondorf pulled his hands away from Ghirahim to massage his own temples, “In Hyrule, somehow, property damage and assault  _increases_ one's personal wealth.”

“What?” Ghirahim asked after he tried to process the statement and found that he could not.

“What part of that don't you understand?” Ganondorf pushed past him to see the sketch, but it, and the tailor, were gone.

Ghirahim couldn't bear to watch the scene in front of him, and after he managed to get over the shock, he snatched a pot out of Link's hand.

“Why the hell,” he asked, “Are you trashing this shop?”

“Why are we what now?” Shadow asked.

“Why are you Skychildren destroying  _everything_ ?” Ghirahim asked, and the stupidity was doing nothing to quell his rage, but at least it had converted the sorrow to an emotion he understood, so he was thankful for small miracles.

“Because sometimes stuff has money inside,” Shadow explained as if it were obvious.

“I understand the concept of thievery,” Ghirahim snarled, “But why rob  _this_ shop? And why destroy everything? If you know the shopkeep stores her valuables inside these jars, why not just take them?”

“I mean...” Shadow looked at Link, but Link's face and mind were as blank as his own, “How do you get money out of a pot without smashing it?”

Ghirahim studied him carefully, then turned his gaze to Link. He even went as far as to scan their souls and minds, because he could not make himself believe that it was possible for a living creature to be so stupid. When he had convinced himself that he was, in fact, witnessing such an impossibility, and not some kind of prank, he sat the pot on the ground, reached inside, and felt around. He felt something that obviously was a rupee, and when he pulled it out, saw that it was blue. Nothing worth writing home about. He held it out, but both Link and Shadow were staring at him as if he had made an important scientific discovery.

Grins split their faces as Shadow said, “You're a fucking  _genius!_ ”

Ganondorf leaned against the counter, folded one arm over his chest and buried his face in one hand, “I told you not to engage them.”

“I mean, you aren't wrong,” Ghirahim still had his arm outstretched, “But what are you referencing, specifically?”

“How did you do that!?” Shadow asked, “Get the money without breaking the- oh my god!”

He had interrupted himself because Ghirahim dropped the rupee back into the pot.

“I don't understand,” Ghirahim looked back to Ganondorf, “Master, I can't comprehend what it is that is happening.”

“I think they don't have object permanence,” Zant mused, “Like a baby.”

“I can't,” Ganondorf said to himself, laughing into his hand, “I can't deal with... they're  _so stupid_ . It's not just them it's the whole race. The other Hylians just keep restocking them until they day they die.”

“HOW DOES THIS NOT CRIPPLE YOUR ECONOMY!?” Ghirahim shouted, and waved his arms to indicate everything the two of them had broken.

“It  _does_ ,” Ganondorf was still chuckling into his hand, but it wasn't an amused chuckle, there was a darkness there, bordering on madness, “I only see this world, my homeworld, maybe once a century. And I never see progress... this place is recognizable. I see no technology like I do in the Twilight Realm, no commerce like the demon realm... it is always almost identical. These Hylians stagnate. Because they cannot be trusted even among themselves. This is normal behavior for them. And yet,” his laughter intensified, “And yet... they were able to defeat... destroy... my home... my temple... my parents... my sister... my  _children_ .”

Ghirahim felt his rage drain away as Ganondorf's laughter filled the shop. He and Zant stood, throwing worried glances at each other, while Ganondorf convulsed, held himself, and continued to laugh. Ghirahim took slow, tentative steps, and his hand hovered toward his master, but his face was lined with uncertainty. He looked toward Zant again, but he was filled with as much concern as the demon lord himself.

The two of them jumped when they heard the crash. Link had tried to reach into the pot, like Ghirahim, but it was only a little smaller than he was- he had memories of turning them upside down and hiding inside them as a child- and in order to reach inside he had had to bend at the waist. His body weight bore down on his stomach as he leaned further, and when his feet left the floor the pot shattered under his bodyweight. He fell face first into the shards, and his outfit offered no protection, so he was covered in small cuts. He brushed off the dust and began to pick the shards out of his flesh while Shadow turned, and with complete sincerity asked;

“Ghirahim, why didn't it work for us?”

Ganondorf's laughter became more sincere.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the Fabulous Make-Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only been up like 6 hours yet I'm still exhausted. I didn't reread this and I'm sorry. I'm posting it anyway. I wish I could find a beta-reader for fics. Next chapter is probably gonna be about 90% smut. 
> 
> As always, I have a Ko-fi if anyone is interested in the tip jar: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

Ghirahim licked his lips as he watched his master watching Link.

The captured hero was admiring himself in front of a three-way mirror, twisting and turning in the outfit Ghirahim had designed for him. When he had said, “We need to get you a decent outfit”, Link had taken a look at what Ghirahim was wearing and shuddered. But now that he was looking at himself, he was amazed. There was no way the demon had done the sketch. He was almost positive that Yuga had done it, because it was much more Hylian than demonic, though the demonic influences were certainly there. He could also see a bit of a Gerudo influence, not only on the symbols, but in the design.

The top was tight and short, a mixture between the strips the Gerudo wore and a Hylian tank top, with an embroidered Gerudo emblem, which Link was seeing everywhere. It seemed to be the symbol Ganondorf was using to replace the Hylian royal symbol, and there was nothing Link could do about it, so it was just as well that he got used to wearing it. He had no way of knowing that the tight pants and the over-the-knee boots were Gerudo inspired, because he had never seen a Gerudo except Ganondorf, and his only experience with their fashion had been slave clothes. But it was exactly the sort of thing one would wear under Gerudo armor, or as a diplomat. The gloves that extended past his elbow were almost exactly like Ghirahim's, and clung tightly to the joints when he moved without the straps he was used to wearing. The cloak that fluttered out behind him clipped to the tank, but could be pulled closed with a gold chain.

He looked _breathtaking._

It was obvious that Ganondorf agreed. He stood tall with his arms folded across his chest, staring hard at the hero, with his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Ghirahim slid in front of him and laid his hands gently over his folded arms to get his attention.

“Do you like it, master?” He purred.

“I want one!” Shadow hopped up on the counter, “I want the same thing, but in black!”

Ganondorf swallowed hard, and made no answer as Link turned to them with a smile that took up most of his face. He threw the hood over his hair and tried to tug it as low as he could.

“You better not cover that pretty face after all the hard work I put into it!” Ghirahim snapped, and Link jerked it back, caught the look on the demon's face- and it threw him for a second. He was smiling. Almost as if... he was making a joke. With Link. He was joking, and Link was  _included in it_ , as if they were friends.

“Yuga thought it might help with your... speech thing,” Ghirahim waved his hand to pretend that Link's muteness was unimportant, “So it'll cover half your face, like his little,” Ghirahim ground his teeth, “ _friend_ .”

“It looks much better than the stupid rabbit outfit,” Ganondorf agreed, “But he might do that for the magical properties. Does it grant him speed?”

“I don't think so,” Zant shook his head, “But his magic was so clouded with Yuga's it was hard to tell. I like the bunny costume.”

“That's because you are dreadfully tacky,” Ghirahim rolled his eyes, “I don't blame you but... darling, you just have no  _taste_ .”

“You'd look better in black, Ghirahim,” Ganondorf said, to quell the fight he felt brewing.

“Would I?” Ghirahim stepped so that he could see himself in the mirror, snapped his fingers, and his outfit slowly fell away in a splatter of diamonds that moved from his feet to the top of his head, replaced with an identical one in black.

“Goddamn it,” Shadow hissed in anger.

“What?” Ghirahim spun to face him.

“It just pissed me off that you're hot. You don't deserve it. The only thing that I can find to make fun of is your ears.” Shadow huffed.

“What is wrong with my ears?” Ghirahim rolled his eyes.

“One is bigger than the other. What's up with that?” Shadow leaned forward, but still couldn't reach far enough to pull back Ghirahim's hair.

“Oh, I was going for this asymmetrical aline thing, with my hair,” Ghirahim flipped it to showcase what he was talking about, “And it kept poking out and ruining my aesthetic.”

“You cut your ear off...” Shadow asked, “For the aesthetic?”

“No,” Ghirahim pulled it back, “Just the tip. I can still  _hear_ . And I didn't  _cut_ it off, I just didn't grow it out. I'm a sword. This body is just... sort of like a solid projection. I can change it at will.”

“But they don't match,” Shadow insisted.

“Do you... is 'asymmetrical' not in your vocabulary?” Ghirahim asked, not unkindly, “I don't  _want_ them to match, I want my hair to look good.”

“Every goddamn thing I learn about you scares the shit out of me,” Shadow admitted, “You don't even take your earrings out when you go to kick somebody's ass. You don't give a  _fuck_ .”

Ghirahim chuckled, and turned his attention to the tailor, “Shopkeep, as gorgeous as this is, it's supposed to be a deep, forest green. What are we looking at?”

“Oh,” She startled, because she too had been staring at Link, “Yes, I've mixed in all the herbs.” She broke off from the group and walked a little ways to the side, and pulled a lever.

Link flailed and screamed as the floor suddenly gave out under his feet. The others rushed to the side of the hole that now existed when the trapdoor clattered open, and looked down to watch him as he went under. Link breached the surface of the vat of dye, coughing and sputtering, and rubbed it from his eyes with the palm of his hand. He clawed at the side of the container and pulled himself out, hit the floor hard, and climbed to his feet.

“...why the hell,” Ghirahim asked, “Didn't you dye the fabric before you cut it?”

“What do you mean?” The Tailor asked.

“Hylian culture sickens me,” Ganondorf turned to walk down the stairs, off the platform to join Link at the bottom, and because he was their leader, everyone was forced to follow.

 

As they made their way back to the castle, Link felt truly regal for the first time in days. But he was nervous, because Ghirahim kept looking at him and giving him an incredibly creepy smile, then leaning in to whisper something to the king, then almost falling out of the saddle because he didn't know how to lean. Ganondorf's reactions changed, from anger at the poor riding, to outright laughter, and Link knew that they thought he couldn't hear them.

They were wrong.

Hylans did not brag about their ears for no reason; they had one of the keenest senses of hearing of any race in all of Hyrule. Perhaps not the best, as they claimed, but it had never been disputed. So though their conversation may have been lost on another demon or Gerudo, Link heard them well enough to get the gist of the conversation.

“A pity to lose,” Ganondorf was replying, “But a necessity.”

“Master, there are other reasons to take pleasure slaves,” Ghirahim giggled, “The power of having the pretty little hero on his knees, weaponless...”

He turned to glance and Link and grin, and Link tilted his head to the side and thought of pulling up his hood, but Ghirahim had turned his attention back to Ganondorf.

“And if you don't want him, can I have him?” He asked, “I won't kill him. I won't even damage him that much. I promised him a reward for good behavior.” He flicked his wrist and a piece of paper appeared in a flurry of diamonds, “He's starting to understand, to break like an unruly animal. We're taming him. Look at this letter from this morning. He says that is no longer his goal to escape, but to 'stay on my good side'. I don't think he was lying.”

Ganondorf took it, and Ghirahim's face contorted to panic for a brief moment as he tried to right himself on the saddle after he had leaned over to hand it to the king. Ganondorf read it quickly, as if it were a secret message conveyed on a battlefield, and handed it back.

“I see. It seems that you didn't waste the morning after all. You'll find, Ghirahim, that small acts of kindness can condition just as easily as pain.” He smiled, though Link, from his position in the rear, could not see it, “Alright. Give him his reward...” He shot the briefest of glances, in his peripheral vision, over his shoulder at Link. It would have been impercievable, had Link not been a knight with keen senses who was trained to know when he was being watched.

“Right now it's a secret to everybody,” Ganondorf leaned to whisper to Ghirahim with ease, “So tell no one. But soon I will begin taking petitioners, so I won't have a night to myself.”

The color melted from Ghirahim's flesh, but Link didn't understand why. He was unfamiliar with the Gerudo practice, and had no reason to suspect it would incite jealousy.

“So you're probably right,” Ganondorf chose his words carefully; always a step ahead, always in control, “I should spend tonight proving my power to my little slave. And my affection for you, my pet.”

Ghirahim had no time to react. They had ridden into the stables, and the groomsmen were upon them to take their horses.

“I have to reschedule some meetings,” Ganondorf explained as he hopped down, speaking slowly as he stroked Nightmare and nuzzled into her face. He turned to Ghirahim and gently touched his face, just under the chin, rubbing soft circles into his cheek with his thumb. He tightened his grip, and jerked, and pulled the demon into a fierce, powerful kiss.

It was so sudden and unexpected that Link and Zant stopped what they were doing and stared. They shot a glance at each other, unsure of what they should be doing or what was going on. They both seemed to decide that the best course of action was to stand there stupidly gawking until the demon king broke the kiss and pulled away. Ghirahim tried to follow him, but Ganondorf still held his face, and forced him down.

He leaned in to whisper, “Prepare him for me,” And Ghirahim swooned. Then stood to his full height and began to walk in the direction of the castle. “Zant,” he called, “Accompany me. We have to speak to the Zora about the water temple. As high priest I need you by my side.”

“Yes master,” Zant hurried away with him.

The grooms were all busy with horses, and so Link found himself left alone with Ghirahim, who was teetering on his feet as if he may pass out. Link didn't understand. It was so obviously transparent, a facsimile of love meant to deceive. He had never even used the word “love”- 

Wait. 

Link wracked his brain.

She'd never said it.

Never.

Not once.

His felt a pain radiating out from his temples and put one hand to his forehead.

He couldn't remember a single time Zelda had ever told him that she loved him. She... called him a hero... said she liked him... appreciated him... had  _affection_ for him.

“What's wrong, Skychild?” Ghirahim asked, “Is jealousy making you weak? Shss.” He put an arm around Link's shoulders, “Come back with me, and I'll get you straightened out, alright?”

He just let himself be led, he didn't look up, and trusted Ghirahim to guide him

_She had never told him she loved him._

Which wouldn't matter, if she hadn't always worded it almost exactly the way Ganondorf worded it when he spoke to Ghirahim.

She didn't love him.

She was manipulating him.

Just like Shadow said.

There were spots in front of his eyes and he clung to Ghirahim's cloak.

“Skychild?” He asked and grabbed Link before he fell, but his voice sounded far away and underwater. “Skychild, why are you crying?”

Link buried his face in the cloak and Ghirahim snapped his fingers. 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This gets real smutty, real fast. This chapter is 90% Ghiralink. It does actually move the plot along, though. So 2 birds one stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this chapter because it's the first thing I've ever had Betaed. StJimmyBluh edited this so quickly too, I was amazed. 10/10. I have no idea the process went so quickly and smoothly. So be prepared for this to be much better than my other stuff!
> 
> My editor told me that I should explain what Shudo is, because it comes up in the story and might be something that everyone doesn't have a working knowledge of. There's a similar concept with European knights called 'paederasty'. Basically, as part of the training, knights would take on apprentices, and those apprentices were expected to submit sexually to the knights. They were even trained on how to do that. And it's real fucked up, but it's historically accurate that it would have happened to Link, and that it would have just been casually accepted as 'a thing that happens'. So I guess that's a thing you need to know for this chapter, because it is referenced. 
> 
> Also, as always, I have a Ko-Fi if anyone is interested in the tip jar: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

     “Skychild,” Ghirahim spoke slowly after they appeared in Ganondorf's room, the room that Link was slowly beginning to consider his own, “You're hysterical. I'm going to slap you. It isn't a punishment, I just want you to calm down.”

     Link tried to nod, but he was hyperventilating. His eyes were huge and his hands were clutching his chest. Ghirahim recognized the reaction, and it annoyed and concerned him; it was the same reaction he had had when Ganondorf had forced him to speak to swear his loyalty. Something terrible was happening inside Link's head, and with the Master Sword missing he didn't have time for it. But that didn't explain Ghirahim's concern. He was concerned because he didn't consider Link a prisoner of war, not anymore. Link was a possession of his master's and by extension, his own. Not his most cherished possession, of course, that honor went to Ghirahim himself, but Link seemed to be a fairly close second, well guarded, and well cared for. No one but the two of them could decide how to use such a treasured thing. The concern, Ghirahim begrudgingly admitted, came from jealousy.

      He didn't hit him hard, just enough to cause the world, the real world, to come back into focus. He slapped some sense into him, and when the glaze in his wide eyes fell away, they darted to Ghirahim. He grabbed at his cloak and Ghirahim slowly walked forward, pushing him, until he was forced to sit on the bed. He recognized the look in those eyes.

   _Help me._

    “Who hurt you, Skychild?” Ghirahim asked.

      He shook his head and lowered his eyes, so Ghirahim grabbed him by the upper arms and shook.

      “You have to tell me who hurt you! I command it!” He demanded, but Link shook his head and looked away.

      “I don't have time for you to break down, Skychild. You can break down after we've recovered your armory.” Ghirahim released him and took a step back, rubbing at his temples.

      Link had whipped out his journal and was scribbling, but the letters were shaky and erratic and Ghirahim could barely read them

_I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this_

_Help me I can't do this it hit me and I can't do this I can't be this_

_I have to leave please Ghirahim help me please I can't I can't_

_Just let me die_

_I can't think I can't talk I can't write I can't be-_

    “Stop,” Ghirahim commanded, “You're  _hysterical_. What hit you?”

   _Everything,_ Link wrote with tears leaking from his eyes,  _I'm a slave I can't escape I was captured I failed I failed and Impa is dead. Cia is dead. So many Hylians are dead because I failed. I'm not a hero I can't do this I have no one I have nothing everything is-_

    He sat the journal and pen on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

      “Stop crying,” Ghirahim commanded, “You're a soldier. And your make-up is running.”

      Link grabbed the journal again and began writing, much more slowly:

   _She never told me she loved me._

    “Because she doesn't,” Ghirahim said as if it were obvious, “Which is a good thing. You're related. You'd have kids with arms growing out of their heads or something, given how mortals work. It's called 'inbreeding'.”

Link blinked up at him in confusion and sorrow. That made absolutely no sense. He and Zelda weren't blood related- she was royalty and he was a peasant. There was no way he had royal blood. Ghirahim sighed.

      “The reincarnation of the goddess Hylia, and the Skychild- the one I told you about, from the actual sky? Had children. It was from that line that the hero, the one you called “The Hero of Time”, and that Princess Zelda were descended. The Triforce is hereditary, through the blood of the hero and the blood of the goddess. You, and the Queen Zelda, are related. By blood. There is royal blood in your veins. As keeper of the triforce of wisdom, she knew that. Did she never tell you?”

      Link shook his head. He wanted it to be a lie. An untruth. A deception. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt something slide into place; not much, but... flashes. Memories? Sailcloth and falling and blond hair, a girl in a pink dress... a bird! The bird on his shield? Too much. He grabbed his head as pain shot through it.

      “I wonder what else she has kept from you,” Ghirahim mused, as he sat next to Link and wrapped an arm around him, “Shh. Calm yourself, Skychild.”

      Link reached for the journal with shaky hands, took a deep breath and wrote:

   _I think I'm ok._

    His hand shook so badly the text smeared, and he looked up at Ghirahim, then back down to write again:

   _Why are you helping me? Your moods make no sense._

    “My moods make perfect sense, Skychild. I told you, I've wanted you since the day I met you centuries ago. I wanted to break you, hear you scream,  _free you_. As a servant, nothing pains me more than watching someone toil under a master who does not deserve them. I saw it then, and I see it now. You are too good for her. Skychild... My master was right, as he often is. Do you remember what he said to you? 'You aren't an archer, you're an arrow'. I am not a  _swordsman_ , I am a  _sword_. We are weapons. And we have a right to determine who will wield us. If someone unworthy tries to handle me, I'll sear off their flesh. Fi splits their soul. You don't have to take it. But you  _have_ taken it. For centuries. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

   _Furious?_ Link scribbled,  _Outraged? Sick with anger?_

    “Good,” Ghirahim reached out to stroke his hair, “You're finally paying attention. This. This realization that you're having right now, is what I have been trying to push you toward for  _centuries_.”

 _You think Ganondorf is worth serving?_ Link wrote, and Ghirahim darted his eyes to the paper as soon as he heard the scribble of the pen.

     “Ganondorf has the soul of Demise,” Ghirahim replied, “And I feel him calling out to me. Demise was like no being I had ever known. Demons... have not had the best circumstances, Skychild, but Demise was going to change that. The Goddess could have her sky, and we would have the surface. We could emerge from the shadows and join the world of the living without fear. It didn't work out, but the dream was fabulous. When I lost him, I was so full of rage I couldn't pull myself together enough to hold a mortal body. It's a feeling I cannot describe... But before he died, while he was fading away from the mortal blow you dealt him, he swore that he would survive, that he would cycle, be reborn. Fi couldn't really destroy him, not completely...”

      He took a deep breath, and continued, “And I see that spirit in Master Ganondorf- the desire he had to create a better world for his people, a people that the Hylians, the chosen people of Hylia, destroyed. Gerudo history is complex, heartbreaking and it mirrors the demons' in so many ways. The more we speak, the more we have in common. I would follow him to the ends of the Earth. He's a good man in a bad situation.”

   _He's a murderer_  Link wrote, but even as he did he realized that it wasn't something Ghirahim would care about. He was talking to someone who had been alive several thousand years as a war general.

      “Skychild,” Ghirahim sighed, “We're all murders. We're over it. That's how life works. As a sword spirit, if I go too long without spilling blood, I hunger... I get a bloodlust.” He smiled at Link's judgmental look, “Just like you. I watched you set a deer on fire and eat the charred carcass. Do you think  _burning alive_ is a pleasant death?”

   _I thought the arrow would kill it_  Link frowned at the page and wouldn't meet Ghirahim's eyes. He really had thought the arrow would kill it. He just wanted to see if he could cook the meat without building a fire. But it hadn't been a clean take-down. He had been set on fire more times than he could count, and it was a special kind of pain. He thought he might cry again. Ghirahim was right, he was so weak, and there was no reason for it. He was a soldier. He was better than this. He tugged on his arm and held up the journal so Ghirahim could see that he had written another sentence.  _I want my sword back._

    “I'm going to shatter her,” Ghirahim crossed his arms, “I'll be filled with sorrow, but I'm willing to directly disobey my master to do it. I will shatter her into a million shards. I won't let her hurt him!”

Link frowned and shook his head.

      “These people are not your  _friends_ , Skychild! She calls you her master, but didn't you feel more like a slave? Commanding you, dragging you through the most dangerous places, yelling at you for the stupidest things. Who was the master and who was the servant? I don't recall her leading you toward any  _human_ comforts like food or soft beds. She led you towards upgrades for  _herself_.”

   _I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not Skychild._  Link held the paper where he could see it, and Ghirahim tensed, flexed, sighed, and rolled his shoulders. He held out his arms and his traveling cloak faded away in a flutter of diamonds.

     “Right. It's so easy to forget, you know,” he gently lifted Link's face in his hands, “Hm... you don't look  _exactly_ like him, do you? Your soul does, but your physical body is slightly different. He had more kissable lips,” He chuckled as Link huffed, “But you have prettier hair. The mortal form is just a shell, but I think we've really made this one easy to look at.”

      Link nodded, and remembered that he had completely forgotten how good he looked and why, so he quickly scribbled:

_Thank you, for the outfit. I forgot to say that. It feels strange to wear the symbol of someone else's people._

    “You look absolutely gorgeous, Skychild,” Ghirahim agreed, “I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you anymore. You're almost up to my standards.”

      Link let out a long breath, staring at his gloved hands folded over the journal on his lap.

      “Almost,” Ghirahim explained, because he sensed the question, “Because you ruined your face with your bitch-crying. Your eyeliner and mascara are running and your eyes are bloodshot.”

      Link nodded because it was true, and probably something that Ghirahim would consider an offense worthy of punishment.

      “But that's alright,” Ghirahim laughed, “It happens to the best of us. I'll show you how to fix it, later. Right now we have to focus. Then... I think this realization deserves a reward as well. Two in one day. I'm proud of you. I had honestly thought you were rather stupid, but it seems once we broke past the wall of denial things are going to move along fairly fast. Ugh,” he made a face as if he were disgusted, “I hope you don't do this at every step. When he starts your education I don't want to deal with you weeping like a child every night.”

      Link watched Ghirahim in confusion. He hadn't really put much thought into what Ganondorf's overall plan was for him. He had thought it was odd that he hadn't killed him outright, and if Ghirahim was to be believed, he had banned his underlings from killing him as well. There was some reason that he wanted him alive, but Link hadn't thought about what it might be. Every spare thought in his head had been geared toward escaping.

      He held the pen, hovering over the paper as he heard Ghirahim snap his fingers again, and shuddered as the cool air of the chamber hit his bare flesh. He decided to ignore the nudity for now, since it didn't seem as if he were going to get another brutal whipping, and instead wrote:

_What is he going to do with me?_

    He held it up for Ghirahim to see, but the demon was admiring his own form in the full body mirror by the doorway to the Demon King's dressing room.

      “I do think he was right,” Ghirahim said, “I do look amazing in black. It's more of a contrast, isn't it? Which of my forms do you prefer, Skychild?”

      Link wished he would get off his own dick for two minutes and answer the question, so he jostled the book, in the hopes that the noise would draw his attention. When it did, Ghirahim rolled his eyes.

      “My master sees something within you,” He admitted as he begrudgingly pulled himself away from the mirror, “Probably the same thing I do. If you can get out from under the goddess's control, you have the makings of a fine warrior. However, you haven't proven to us that you can be trusted. None of us have any kind of guarantee that you won't try to murder us the first chance you get. You don't have a very good tract record with that sort of thing.”

      He leaned in and took the journal, closed it gently with the pen still inside, and sat it on the nightstand, “Now, stop worrying. No more tears. No more unrelated questions. You have no idea how long I have waited...” He ran his eyes from where they had been, locked on Link's, down his body and settled in his lap. He chuckled, and his voice deepened when he stood to his full height. He picked the journal back up, circled the bed, and crawled onto it to spread out and make himself comfortable.

      He stretched out on his side and waggled the book.

      “Come here, Skychild, lay with me,” he demanded, and Link didn't want his mood to flip as it often did, so he crawled and tried to mimic his body language. Ghirahim laid the journal on the bed between them, and reached out to absentmindedly play with Link's hair, and the former hero winced when his fingers fell on the bruise that was still tender from when Ghirahim had hit him before they left.

      “I would like your help,” Ghirahim began, “because I feel that my master will fly into as great a rage as I did when he finds out Fi is missing. Because of the way he was raised, he does see you... sort of like a captured Voe. Do you know what that is?”

      Link raised one hand and wriggled it, then shrugged to indicate that he  _kind of_  knew. There were historical records of that kind of thing. He knew what a Gerudo was, and they lived on in horror stories meant to keep children out of the deserts or strike enough fear in them to keep them coming home on time. He knew that if you wandered too close to the desert you were likely not to come back. As an adult he had heard the rumors. He knew what the Gerudo did with their prisoners. He did not like the implications.

      “Well, he's going to stake his claim tonight. And I really don't need any bullshit out of you, do you understand me? I need him in a  _good_ mood when I tell him about the break-in in the armory. I doubt he's going to make you do anything difficult, you only need to be able to handle two things, instructions and pain. Have you ever done this before?”

      Link stared at him because he had absolutely no response to that. He'd never heard anyone discuss such risque topics so bluntly before, and he wasn't exactly in the best state of mind for normal conversation, let alone something so taboo. But he wasn't stupid, and he flipped open the journal, because he had many questions, but two seemed more important than the rest.

_Ghirahim, what are you doing to me? Why did you take my clothes?_

    “I'm going to make this as easy on you as I can, Skychild,” Ghirahim sighed, “As you may have noticed with Fi, sword spirits are masters of assessing situations and collecting intelligence. I am not as  _annoying_ as she is, and I see no reason to give you information you already have. Yet based on the information I can gather from your body language, reactions, and overall physical form, there is an 83% chance that you have no idea what you're doing. And I don't need poor performance tonight.”

   _Please don't make me do this,_ Link wrote, and tried to reach for the crystal, but his hand hovered in the air without touching it, and after a few seconds, Ghirahim grew annoyed and grabbed his wrist.

      “Stop that. It irks me, and I am trying to help you.” He commanded, “And your taste is horrible. The man is gorgeous, strong, powerful, intelligent-” he huffed when Link tore his hand away to write.

   _He's literally a pig._

    “Beauty standards aren't the same everywhere, Skychild. I can appreciate human beauty because I've been around it so much, but most demons wouldn't look twice at you. Ganondorf is gorgeous no matter what form he takes, but if you want to ask any of, say, our moblin troops what form _they_ prefer, I daresay the answer would shock your fragile Hylian sensibilities. I take this form precisely because it's a beautiful human, but my final form is a gorgeous demon.” Ghirahim chuckled, “I can show you.”

      Link sighed and rolled onto his stomach. He didn't need to be shown. He remembered, and it made sense. Ghirahim was bigger and bulkier in his final form- hell, he busted out of his clothes. He had those long, creepy fangs that looked like they could rip a Hylian in half, that giant diamond in his chest... everything about that form was terrifying.

      But... why?

      Now that Ghirahim brought it up, Link wasn't sure why he thought that smaller forms with lighter skin and fewer muscles were prettier. It didn't make a lot of sense. Ghirahim was much stronger in his final form, and that would be true if he were flesh and blood. His rippling muscles would be much better suited to combat, and Link had more respect for warriors than possibly anyone else.

      He sure wished he'd wear clothes though.

      Not that he needed them, because as Link thought about it, he didn't remember Ghirahim having... anything that he would need to cover up. Against his will his eyes darted to the space between the demon lord's legs, and he didn't realize he was staring until he heard Ghirahim laugh.

      “Not in my final form,” he answered the unasked question, “But in  _this_  form, yes.”

      Link felt the heat of the blush spreading across his face, and Ghirahim laughed again.

      “Calm down, Skychild, and answer my questions so that I will know how to help you,” He chuckled, and reached out to stroke Link's hair again, “Don't worry. I give you my oath right now that your curiosity will be sated. But the blushing virgin act is doing nothing to improve my confidence that you'll be able to satisfy my master.”

      Link sighed, and wriggled until he built up enough courage to turn and face the demon. He reached out until his hand found the pen, and Ghirahim watched with interest as he wrote.

_What was the question?_

    “I'm trying to gauge your level of experience,” Ghirahim explained, and the businesslike tone broke through the tension Link had been feeling. It was just so ridiculous. The situation was ridiculous, and he didn't understand  _why_ he was laughing, only that it felt good, that it vibrated through his chest, and he grabbed a pillow to ground himself, to force it to stop. He was still chuckling when he met Ghirahim's eyes and found him smiling.

      Link didn't like the lack of malice in his eyes, and closed his own to force his thoughts to settle.

_I still think that they're coming for me._

    “I admire your optimism,” Ghirahim shrugged, because the topic was uninteresting to him, and it was obvious that he didn't share Link's opinion, “Now answer truthfully. You're wasting our time.”

   _There's no way I can get out of it?_  Link flipped the journal for easier reading and stared at Ghirahim with what he hoped was his most pitiful expression.

      “This weak persona does not suit you, Skychild,” Ghirahim smirked, “It's as transparent as the 'submissive prisoner' act you tried to put on. You have the soul of a warrior, and we can all see it. Now stop moping. You're beginning to grate on my nerves. This is me being nice,” he spread one hand over his chest and braced his head with the other as he narrowed his eyes at Link, “I don't  _have_ to do that. Now. Answer. The. Question.”

      Link sighed, flipped the book back, and flicked his eyes from the page to Ghirahim several times before he began to write.

 _I don't want to have this conversation so I'm just going to try to get it all out. I'm not very experienced. I've not dated a lot. I'm not good at it. I can't-_ He crossed the word 'can't' out and began again.  _I'm not very good at communicating and so I don't have a lot of deep friendships. I don't really talk to people, so people don't really want to date me._

_The only real experience I have is from the same stuff we all have with shudo. I never really dated. Not something I'm very proud of. Can we burn this when you finish reading it? I know I'm a loser._

    “Skychild, there is no shame in being a warrior who is not distracted by the pleasures of the flesh. This isn't the only aspect that you deny yourself- I've seen you go for days without eating or sleeping. That must be a foolish, Hylian notion. You are not defined by your skills in a single area. Sentient creatures are complex. How far did your training with your master go?” Ghirahim flipped the book back and added, “I can read it upside down. Stop doing that. It's annoying.”

      Link sighed and wrote.  _Are you seriously going to make me go into detail?_

    “Little hero,” Ghirahim giggled, “Is this embarrassment not an act? Are you actually this  _deliciously_ corruptible?” He licked his lips and reached out to snatch the journal away. He climbed over Link until he was straddling him, and sat it carefully on the bedside table next to him. Link braced himself on his elbows and watched with wide eyes. Ghirahim was much heavier than his slight frame made it seem as if he would be, a weight that pinned him to the bed with no room for protest. There would be no way for him to shove him off. Ghirahim laughed at his attempts.

      “One day, Skychild, I won't have to tell you to stop struggling, but for now it's cute to watch you try. I feel as if that adorableness will become tiresome quickly, however, and I am not going to deal with it. You've watched me summon chains from nothing before, and you will not push me, do you understand? Now,” He slowly slid his fingertips down Link's arms until he reached his wrists, then guided them over his head and held them there with one hand, “I need you to relax. Your little heart is beating so fast. Are you afraid of me, Skychild?”

      Link saw no reason to lie, and Ghirahm was in such a good mood that he probably saw abject terror as a compliment, so he nodded frantically.

      “Skychild,” Ghirahim spoke with complete seriousness, and lost all his playful tone, “I know that you do not believe this, but at least here, alone, you are among friends. If any of us wanted to hurt you, we would have done so already. You are much safer here than you would be opposing us.”

      Link was reminded of an old proverb, though he was unsure from where he had learned it. It almost certainly was not a Hylian saying.  _It is better to stand beside the devil than in his path._

    “Do you trust me?” Ghirahim asked, and when Link shook his head he sighed, “A pity.”

      Link struggled against him, but the demon was as hard and heavy as steel, and he couldn't get out of his grasp. He wasn't trying to escape, he was trying to communicate. He stared up at Ghirahim, but there was no way for him to make him understand. He took a deep breath and forced every muscle in his body to relax, a trick he had learned as a warrior, starting in his feet and eventually making it all the way to the fingertips above his head. He breathed slowly, and slumped into the mattress, closed his eyes, opened them, and tried to pretend that he was going to sleep.

      He whimpered, because it was the best he could do, and mouthed the word, “Please”.

      Ghirahim released the grip on his wrists, and Link left them where they were until he was sure he wouldn't incite any kind of demonic wrath by moving. He slowly lifted his left hand and laid it in the open space on Ghirahim's chest. He was cold, harder than flesh, and he felt no heartbeat. Link slowly ran his finger over the open area in the hopes that he could feel it, and understand.

   _Y-o-u-H-u-r-t-M-e._

    “You killed people who did not need to die, Skychild. You deserved it. I have never hurt you if you didn't deserve it. None of us have. Unlike your queen who, if my understanding is correct, picked the prettiest boy out of lineup based on a nightmare she had and shoved him in front of a dragon with the most  _basic_ training. You have built up several lifetimes of things to atone for. Stop pretending you haven't.” He braced himself with his hands on either side of Link's head and looked down at him, “Stop trying to figure out who the protagonists and antagonists are. Stop looking at the world as if it's something simple. Stop it. It's making me angry. It's bringing up... memories.”

   _W-i-l-l-Y-o-u-H-u-r-t-M-e-N-o-w-?_

    “No. In fact, if you relax, I'm going to give you the best time of your life. I'm going to give you pleasure you've never experienced, and new senses to feel it with. If you fight me, you'll bruise and bleed and tear. If you work with me, I'll fill you with a new appreciation for this body you've been neglecting.” Ghirahim leaned down and licked the strip of flesh from Link's collarbone to his ear. Bent over him like that, Link felt the immovable weight of his body. He was trapped. Completely snared by a creature bigger than him, stronger than him, and steeped in magic; someone who could tear him limb from limb with ease. But Ghirahim's teeth were blunted in his human form, and he was nibbling on the lobe of Link's ear.

      Then he was whispering into it in a voice so quiet Link suddenly knew that Ghirahim had known he heard the conversation on horseback as they came back into the castle.

      “I probably shouldn't have ripped out your earring, Skychild,” he actually sounded remorseful, “You had awakened my bloodlust in that battle, but I shouldn't have injured you when you were subdued. You have my heartfelt apologies. I'll buy you a new set. I'll make it up to you.”

      Link didn't think he'd wear earrings into battle anymore. He had learned an important lesson. People would learn to fear the sight of him taking out his earrings.

      But Hylian ears were sensitive, and Ghirahim had moved from the lobe to cartilage, sliding his teeth or that ridiculous tongue over the flesh, and Link wondered how he knew to do that. He slid the hand that had been splayed out on his chest to a more comfortable position, resting between Ghirahim's shoulder blades, and grabbed at the pillows with the one still above his head. The gentleness of a powerful creature was not something that Link was used to, and not something that he disliked as much he thought he would.

      Or at all.

      He turned his head to give the demon lord more access. It left his throat exposed, the vein that carried blood to his brain, the lifeblood that Ghirahim could end with a thought. It would take no effort to reach up a hand and crush it, or to rip it open with his fangs. Instead Link felt one hand tangle in his hair, holding him in the position he had put himself, and felt Ghirahim's tongue, somehow warmer than his flesh, slide over the pulsing vein. Link took a quick, shallow breath, because he realized he had forgotten to do that for far longer than was generally healthy.

      Ghirahim's voice had dropped a full octave when he spoke again.

      “I can taste the lust on you, Skychild,” he purred, and Link thought it was strange that it didn't feel like an insult, “the desire... I can feel acceptance creeping into your soul, feel the chains breaking... I want more. Give it to me.”

      Link didn't know what he was demanding. His first thought went to blood, that the demon wanted to tear out his throat, so he felt torn; the same emotions that had plagued him since his capture swelled within him, and his eyes misted as he nodded.

   _Let him kill me. Let him kill me and it will be over. I can't escape. I can't help._

    Ghirahim rolled until he was lying on his back and Link was sitting in his lap, completely unrestrained. Ghirahim held his hands loosely, palms down on Link's thighs, and the hero stared down at him in confusion.

      “Let's see what you remember, shall we?” Ghirahim asked, and snapped his fingers. His clothes fell away in a cascade of diamonds. Link yelped as the force of something thick and hard stabbing into him hit him at the same time as his realization. He probably wasn't being murdered.

      Then he looked down, and he furrowed his brow in confusion, because... maybe he was.

      His first thought, after he realized Ghirahim was referring to his shudo training, was that Ghirahim was not very good at spatial reasoning. He was taller than any Hylian, and everything on him was perfectly proportioned, which meant that if Link had just seen him in the state he was in, standing on his own or something, he wouldn't have noticed anything in particular. But sitting where he was, outlined against his own, much smaller body, he instantly recognized the problem, and frantically shook his head.

      Ghirahim sighed dramatically, and grabbed Link by the hips as he sat up. He picked him up with ease and held him as he readjusted, spread out his legs, rolled his shoulders, and got comfortable, then sat the Hylian on the bed between his open legs. Link braced himself on Ghirahim's chest and stared at him with wide eyes as he continued frantically objecting to what the demon lord wanted him to do. 

     “What's your problem, Skychild?” Ghirahim chucked as he spoke, and squeezed Link's hips. Link moved to the place he thought the demon's heart would be, and spelled slowly, hoping he would understand.

   _I-t-W-o-n-t-W-o-r-k._

    “What are you talking about?” Ghirahim asked, and Link's eyes darted down. Ghirahim followed his gaze, and broke into a fit of laughter that shook his body so hard that he took one of his hands from Link to slap over his mouth. “It isn't funny it's,” he was actively trying to regain his composure and having a difficult time, “It's the look of fear on your face. I can't- you're so terrified. Skychild have you forgotten Demise? You think I'm-” he couldn't finish his thought. He was so overcome with his laughter at Link's expense that he hid his entire face in his hand.

   _I-t-s-N-o-t-F-u-n-n-y-I-m-G-o-i-n-g-T-o-D-i-e._

    “I can't, don't say anything else! Don't!” Ghirahim slid the hand still holding him to the small of Link's back and pulled him flush, and Link felt that his skin had warmed a bit, “If I needed air to live, Skychild,  _I_ would die. You poor Hylians are so prudish. How are there so many of you? You sexually reproduce. If you're all this cock-shy how has your species survived?”

      Link shoved himself away with a hand on either of Ghirahim's shoulders. It absolutely wasn't funny, and this wasn't an issue that normally came up because Hylians tended to date, and have sex with  _other Hylians,_ not giant demons or-

      The color drained from Link's face. The Gerudo. Ganondorf was even bigger than Ghirahim.

      Nope.

      He shook his head frantically and made his first real attempt at escape, but Ghirahim held fast against his back, and moved his free hand to his shoulder. The smile disappeared from his face as he watched Link's panic.

      “Skychild. SKYCHILD. Stop panicking. I know I shouldn't be laughing at your fear, you don't understand, you- well I suppose you  _can't_ understand, because you weren't there. Calm down. The most important thing to do in a frightening situation is to remain calm.”

      The hypocrisy of hearing that statement from the man who's emotions were so erratic that the unpredictability made life a living hell made Link so angry that he was ready for an actual fight. In that moment, if he had the ability, he would have killed him. But he didn't have time to act on that anger, because he was choking. Ghirahim had moved the hand on his shoulder to the back of his head, but Link didn't realize that the thing he was experiencing was a kiss. He didn't understand that the thing, the writhing, living muscle down his throat was a tongue, because that made no logical sense. That wasn't how tongues worked. The first image that came to mind was that of a tentacle belonging to some sort of ancient evil, water monster, and something in the back of his mind told him that he and such a creature would be natural enemies. He wanted to fight it off, but there were bright lights in his vision, and his lungs were shrieking at him, and he felt so very weak. It wasn't until Link's flailing stopped and the arms trying to shove him away went slack that Ghirahim pulled back.

      Link sucked in air like a man drowning and brought the hand he wasn't using to brace himself on Ghirahim's chest over his heart. The quick, erratic beating was slowly returning to normal, and he stared at Ghirahim in disbelief. Ghirahim looked just as confused as he did.

     “As I was saying,” he said, “It isn't funny, but your fear is... intoxicating. I need you to stop. Calm down. Let me be gentle. Don't push me. This is  _difficult_ for me. Do you understand that?”

      Link nodded.

     “Good,” Ghirahim tugged his hair, “Just stop resisting. Move with me, like a dance. You did well there. Let me lead, and forget everything else. Trust me, Skychild. I won't hurt you. And even if you don't believe me, you know that I'm under orders not to kill you. So you know it wouldn't be anything you wouldn't survive.”

      Link saw the truth in that statement, and stayed in the position Ghirahim had pulled him.

     “Much better,” Ghirahim took a moment to study the fallen hero, on his knees between his legs, trying to steady his breathing as he held him completely at his mercy. It was a beautiful sight.

      He pulled him to his chest again, then used both hands to cup his face as he brought their lips together. Link whimpered into the kiss, perhaps afraid he was going to be suffocated again, but the demon was much more gentle now that there was no panic to quell. He prodded softly, and only allowed himself access once those lips parted of their own accord. He could taste the sweet lingering sugar in the tincture he had applied to gloss Link's lips earlier, and enjoyed it before moving on.

      Link was no longer fighting. His arms were pressed between them, but Ghirahim had no hold on his torso; he could have easily pulled away if he wanted. But he didn't. He stayed exactly where he had been, palms flat against Ghirahim's shoulders, moving in time with him.

      He didn't know how to kiss, perhaps had never been properly kissed, and it was obvious. But Ghirahim was an expert, and in very little time he had the poor little hero melting into his chest. He was afraid the poor boy had nearly passed out again, and pulled him away, but Link had apparently been enjoying himself, and let out a defeated, needy whine when their lips parted. He seemed to be confused, dazed, and watched Ghirahim with half closed eyes.

      “Much better,” Ghirahim praised, and Link blinked lazily up at him, then giggled and put his fingertips to Ghirahim's lips. They were tinted pink, the color of Link's flesh. Some of the gloss had to have rubbed off on them, and the effect broke the perfect contours and color scheme of his face. It was almost cute.

      “Yes,” Ghirahim rolled his eyes, “that happens. Now that we seem to have shattered your fear, I'm putting you to work.”

      He guided Link's hand, much less tense now, and gently wrapped it around the base of his own cock, “Just relax, scoot back, lean forward, and show me what you remember. I'm not judging you, Skychild, don't be afraid. I'm here to train you, to help.”

      Link did as he was told, even as the sense of humiliation pooled in his gut like a lead weight. He had no desire to do this, and no means of escape. Well... perhaps it was an exaggeration to say  _no_ desire. The novelty, if nothing else was intriguing. Like the rest of his body, Ghirahim's cock was as solid as a steel rod, and Link wondered how he  _worked_. It seemed as if he didn't have any sort of organs, he certainly wasn't powered by food, but if his tongue were any indication, the inside of him was just as soft and squishy as any living thing. But the flesh... was like nothing Link had ever seen.

      He refused to meet the demon's eye as he gave a tentative lick from the base to the tip, wondering whether or not he would find the vein that he expected. He didn't. Ghirahim's body pulsated with something, but it didn't seem to be  _blood_. Magic, perhaps? He didn't seem to generate any heat himself, though his body did seem to  _retain_  it, almost as if he were absorbing it from Link. With that in mind, he held the base and hovered over the tip, breathing warm gusts of air over the slit, to see if the change in temperature did anything at all.

     “The curiosity is cute, Skychild,” Ghirahim approved, and laced his fingers through Link's hair as the former hero led himself back down the shaft with wet, open mouthed kissed, then back up with little kitten licks.

      With his free hand, he drew runes into Ghirahim's thigh.

   _Y-o-u-r-e-S-o-D-i-f-f-e-r-e-n-t_

      Ghirahim chucked, and the grip he had on Link's hair tightened.

      Link took a deep breath, steeled himself, and wrapped his lips around the head. It was... strange. It was magic, now he was sure of it, that pulsed through Ghirahim's body, because he felt it taking hold. It was that dark magic sometimes found in ancient temples, the kind that shrouded your body in a purple mist and made the world seem far away and hazy. It felt like an attack, because that kind of magic was always an attack, and he tried to pull away, but the hand in his hair held him fast.

      “Calm,” Ghirahim commanded, “You're safe. I'm not hurting you. I need you to stop equating darkness with negativity. It's holding you back. Just relax. Give in and  _feel_ it. It is foreign only because it was purged from your body against your will.”

      Link made a humming sound, trying to both indicate that he understood, and that he still wanted to be let up. When that didn't happen he braced himself on Ghirahim's thighs and tried to relax. He was so used to fighting this magic that every muscle in his body cried out to be released. He needed to get away from the source, to make it  _stop._

      But why? There was no pain. No discomfort. There was nothing wrong. If anything, the slow, rhythmic pulsing held the same kind of comfort as a human heartbeat. He swallowed the saliva that was collecting in his mouth and Ghirahim purred at the sensation.

      “Good boy,” Ghirahim's voice was breathy, “When you're ready, feel free to keep going.”

      Link tried to nod, but wasn't really in a position that accommodated such an action. He spread his knees a little wider to make lowering himself easier, and tried to move down as if he were doing a push-up. He didn't get very far before his eyes began to water and he felt his throat tighten. He still didn't  _really_ trust Ghirahim, and didn't know what he would deem a suitable punishment for failure, so he stalled, took a deep breath through his nose, and swallowed again, all of which he had meant as actions to steel his courage, but Ghirahim was issuing praises again, so it must have performed a dual action. But his courage was up, and as he swallowed again, his body froze up. He was choking, desperately choking, and coughed, gagged, but would not give up. He held on, fiercely, even as he felt his throat fill to the brim, felt the air supply cut off, and fought against the pull in his hair as it jerked him away.

      “I'm concerned,” Ghirahim admitted, as he held Link steady, and the Hylian coughed with both hands over his mouth. When Link regained his composure, he glared, and leaned forward to grab his journal.

   _Why did you pull me off!? I can do it!_

    “How can you possibly be angry about that? You were hurting yourself, and I told you I wasn't going to have you injured,” Ghirahiam glared back, and Link tried to jerk his head free from his grip. He angrily underlined the phrase  _I can do it!_  and stared at Ghirahim through narrowed eyes.

      “It's a problem of logistics, Skychild,” Ghirahim explained patiently, “And of practicality. I won't have you throwing up on my lap. Don't look so insulted. You're doing well. But I think you have the ability to look at the Demon King and figure out that  _this_ is a warm-up. Especially in terms of girth. I can feel every muscle in your throat, and it isn't exactly something that can stretch. Stop looking at me like that. I pulled you away so I could warn you. You're going to take a deep breath, alright? Then we're going to try again, and when you swallow, I want you to relax as much as you can, because I'm going to fill you as full as I possibly can, and hold you there so you can accommodate yourself. Do you understand?”

      His voice had been so firm and demanding that Link wanted to think he was angry, but the lead in his stomach had disappeared, and was replaced with a tingling sensation that was much more recognizable and easier to work with- though it was also far more embarrassing, and out of instinct he moved to cover his crotch with the journal.

      “Now that is  _interesting_ ,” Ghirahim smirked, “It's nice to know that you're so eager to be a part of this plan.” He reached with his free hand and took the book Link had been using to cover himself, which did nothing to ease the blush that was slowly seeping it's way up Link's ears. “Steel yourself, hero. Deep breath. And  _down you go_.”

      Link whined in protest as he felt the hardness press against his throat, but swallowed. He fought past the panic and swallowed again, eyes closed to keep back the tears, and tried to angle his body to avoid most of the pain. His primary emotion was  _confusion_ as he felt his own cock twitch in time with the muscles in his throat. He was stretched, and suffocating again, and reached out blindly until he was able to dig his hands into Ghirahim's thighs to brace himself. He was dying; his lungs burned, and his body cried out in what he wanted to believe was protest, but he knew that was a lie. He didn't recognize what it was telling him. Somewhere, through the haze, he heard Ghirahim's voice, deep and breathy, congratulating him.

     “Good job, Skychild,” he said, somewhere far away and underwater, “I know you feel impossibly full, but I need you to exhale for me, through your nose, not your throat. You've taken it all, you should be proud. Now, all I ask is that you  _don't give in to the unconsciousness seeping into your mind_. Exhale, Skychild.”

      Link tried to flutter his eyelids open, tried to tell him that he couldn't. He even went as far as to try his broken, discarded voice. But he was too full, and it wasn't going to work. He felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips, and recognized it. He relaxed his grip, and tried to remember how to spell, but everything was so difficult.

   _C-a-n-t._

    “Yes you can, Skychild,” Ghirahim purred, “You're stronger than this, you meddlesome little brat. I will not be told that the Hero of Hyrule cannot remember how to breathe.”

      Link braced himself and tried to push into a kneeling position, because he realized that he had fallen. When he did, he found that the new angle made it possible for him to let the air out of his lungs, and draw a slow breath. He shuddered as it hit him, and knocked away most of the haze, slamming him back into reality. The discomfort in his throat returned, but he swallowed against it and whimpered, and Ghirahim used his free hand to softly stroke his face.

      “Skychild,” he promised, “I will never give you a task I believe you will fail. Understand that.” Link darted his eyes to meet the demon's and chastised himself, because he felt inspired by the pride he saw there. But it vanished as a smirk appeared on the demon lord's face, when he added, “Swallow again. I  _adore_  the sensation.”

      So he did.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not played Breath of the Wild at all, so if this is real bad OOC, I apologize. And as always, I wanna thank my great betaer, Saint!
> 
> As always, if you wanna leave a tip: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

The Zora delegates rose to their feet as Ganondorf and Zant entered the room. The king made his way to the head of the table with an easy smile, but if the truth were told, the stature of the Zora threw him. The Zora were strange creatures, and his alliance with them was shaky. He never knew what to expect when he gained freedom. Sometimes, they worked with the Hylians, out of necessity, but sometimes, the animosity between the two groups was so thick that each would attack the other on sight. Often, the Hylians grouped the Zora in with the creatures they considered 'monsters', and he was delighted to see that the princess, Ruto, must have been brought like many of his own warriors, through a gate of time or other portal, and that he was dealing with a completely different branch of leadership.

Evolution had done well by the Zora. They towered over him, but Ganondorf Dragmire was not a man who judged things by their size- in fact, it could be said that a single tiny Hylian with the right sword; a Hylian who barely reached his sternum, could strike more fear into the heart of the man than a towering ghoma. Ganondorf was a big man, by Hylian standards, but with the company he kept, it was not rare that he would have to look up to address an underling.

He bowed slightly, and Zant followed his lead, the Zoras bowed in return, and the King motioned for them to take their seats.

“Welcome, great Prince Sidon, to my humble home,” Ganondorf addressed the taller of the two, “I want to thank you for accepting my invitation to witness my historic coronation. I have been long locked away by the Hylian royal family, and I considered each invitation I sent a risk. After the assassination attempt, I am sure you can see why. I am honored by your presence.”

“We are honored to be here, King Dragmire,” Sidon gave him an easygoing smile, and Ganondorf realized that he had misjudged his age. Zora live long lives, and Ganondorf was not familiar enough with their new forms to judge adequately. He had assumed he was young, perhaps a teenager, but his voice, manners, and the way he conducted himself spoke to his maturity. The Demon King quickly amended his thoughts, and moved on.

“Have you been made comfortable?” Ganondorf asked, “I pride myself on accommodating all races in Hyrule, but I have not yet been able to prepare apartments fit for royalty. Unfortunately, the taste of the previous owner were decidedly  _ Hylian _ , and I am well aware of the limitations of their apartments,” he laughed, “the furniture cannot even accommodate my slight girth.”

Sidon laughed with him, happy to meet someone so easygoing after all the pomp and circumstance of his previous meetings with Hylian royalty which, though few and far between, were stuffy and full of etiquette.

“The bathing pools were a nice improvisation, your majesty,” Sidon laughed, “The former queen always expected us to sleep in those awful beds. I don't know how you people don't suffocate surrounded by so much fabric.”

“Mine broke the first night I tried to sleep in it,” Ganondorf chuckled, “I can't imagine you ever had an easy time. Those Hylian royals were a small, frail people. I've put in orders to have some sturdy, Goron furnishings provided for most of the palace, but I would like to provide a wing exclusively for the comfort of your people. If you have any designers you'd be willing to send my way, I would deeply appreciate it. I'm from the desert. I need all the help I can get.”

“The desert?” Sidon gasped, “How dreadful.”

“It is in the past,” Ganondorf sat up to allow the servant to set their first course, and Sidon's face lit up. The queen had also always served the strangest food, but the eyeball frog soup that was placed in front of him was something that he could have gotten back in the Domain. It was a delicacy and had to be prepared fresh, and perfectly, as it spoiled quickly and could be deadly if it were prepared incorrectly. He was equally shocked to see that Ganondorf had not lifted a spoon, like a Hylian, but raised his bowl, like a Zora.

He held it a little in front of him, looked up at the prince with a smile, and said, “To new friends.”

“To new friends,” Sidon agreed, and brought the bowl to his lips.

“So tell me,” Ganondorf sighed, and some of his good mood evaporated, “how fares your temple? You can not imagine the devastation I felt when I awoke from the evil spell that had been cast upon me to find that the Desert Temple, the sacred holy sight of the goddess Din, had fallen to ruins. The disrepair is so great that even the walls do not stand.”

“Our pain is not quite so great as yours, your Majesty,” Sidon sighed and looked to the elderly priest at his side.

“Ganondorf,” Ganondorf smiled, “Or even Ganon, if you prefer.”

“I call him 'Gan',” Zant spoke up helpfully, “But not to his face. Unless I'm drunk. Then I can't remember.”

“...the after party got a little out of hand,” Ganondorf admitted, cursing Zant's complete lack of people skills.

“Oh!” Sidon perked up, “How delightful! Perhaps I turned in too early. I felt I should excuse myself after a few drinks. If we are being completely honest... I didn't trust myself around your pretty little concubine. I couldn't help watching her all night-”

“ _ Your grace _ ,” The Zora priest chastised, and Sidon sheepishly picked up his bowl to drink again, with a soft pink spreading across the lighter parts of his face.

“Concubine?” Zant asked, and looked at Ganondorf.

“I must admit, Sidon, I have no concubines. I have no need. I am vaguely aware of the concept, but it has no place in demonic or Gerudian culture.” Ganondorf took a long sip of his wine, “My people have no- or very few men. If they expected one to provide for them it would have been... exclusively me, actually. Wouldn't have worked out in the slightest.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry!” Sidon reached out a hand, but had no idea what to do with it, so it hovered in the air awkwardly until he brought it to his chest, “I didn't mean to offend you! I... I know nothing of Gerudo culture. I know you have suffered a great loss. I should have been more sensitive.”

The priest at his side tutted his behavior, and Sidon looked absolutely horrified. Ganondorf wondered if he was afraid, if he had some experience that would cause him to fear the leader of Hyrule.

“I still don't know what that is,” Zant sat his bowl back down, empty, “A concubine. I don't think we have them in the Twilight Realm either.”

“It's almost but not quite a female pleasure slave,” Ganondorf explained, “a man keeps them to produce more children, instead of a woman keeping them to help create children. I believe. Did I get that right?”

Sidon was too embarrassed to speak, but at length he nodded his head, shook it, swallowed deeply and steeled his courage.

“Not quite, your- Ganondorf.” He sipped his wine to steel his courage, “With the Zora, at least, they are not... it isn't for breeding. One female can produce dozens of eggs at a time. They're more like lovers. They have noble status, something like a prince or princess, and are not limited by gender.”

“Oh! Then he's talking about Ghirahim!” Zant said, excited to have figured it out.

“Ghirahim is not my concubine,” Ganondorf hissed in his direction, and once again, cursed his lack of control. Zant's spasms and lack of brain-to-mouth filter hadn't bothered him on the battlefield, but it was becoming quickly apparent that he was not suited for diplomacy. He didn't even seem to know that anything he was saying was inappropriate.

“Oh,” Zant fiddled with his sleeves, and was happy for the distraction when the servants came to take away the first course and set out the next. He smiled at the sushi before him, and tried to rectify the situation by speaking directly to the prince, “Then who were you talking about?”

Ganondorf very seriously regretted having Zant accompany him. He wasn't exactly the type of person to censor people, but he had forgotten that Zant was completely unaccustomed to civility as the Hylians understood it. The Twilight was more of a 'might makes right' culture; even their royalty was straight-forward and rude. He feared that Zant's behavior may have come as too big of a shock after the pretentious Hylians the prince was used to dealing with.

“I'm not sure what her name was,” Sidon toyed with one of the rolls on his plate, “the girl with the tiara, in the... I'm so frightened that anything I say will be culturally insensitive. The... big? Pants? She had blond hair and seemed... sorrowful.”

“Link,” Ganondorf explained as he wiped his mouth on a napkin, “Is  _ his  _ name.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Sidon apologized again, smiling sheepishly, “I didn't mean... I'm being so offensive. I've always had difficulty telling them apart. The male and female Hylians.”

“It's completely understandable,” Ganondorf smiled, “And you're almost right. I would offer him to you for the night, since he's caught your fancy, but I'm afraid I can't trust him. He still has a strong loyalty to his former queen. It sits heavy upon him. But he's a strong warrior. I believe he can be salvaged.”

“How dreadful,” Sidon sighed, “it is so kind of you to keep your captives alive and well. It isn't the Hylian way, you know. I've seen them turn on each other on the battlefield.”

“So have I.” Ganondorf agreed, “Now, let's talk about your temple, shall we? I would love to throw my resources at you. These Hylian carpenters and engineers are shockingly efficient.”

“Oh but you're rebuilding a kingdom, you maj-Ganondorf. We couldn't possibly ask such a thing,” Sidon frowned, “We wanted to offer  _ you  _ resources.”

“That temple is the resting place of Nayru's Pearl,” Ganondorf said seriously, “such a sacred artifact affects not only the Zora, but all of us. It's protection is important to me. The goddesses,” he raised his right hand and the soft glow of the symbol there lit the room, “are important to me.”

“You know about the Zora Sapphire?” the priest watched his hand in awe, “Your grace, this man, he bears the mark of the goddesses. This is Din's chosen child.”

“Great King,” Sidon could not pretend familiarity in his wonder, “we would be honored to accept your help, and to give anything we can in return.”

“I would,” Ganondorf massaged his hand trying to get the sacred symbol to fade, “Like to have a shipment of sapphires. The Hylians can't take the heat. They shrivel up and die in the desert, so sending them out to work in my homeland is tantamount to sending them to their deaths. But I am versed in ancient magics, and if I had some crystals steeped in the water magics of Zora's Domain I could create clothing to protect them from the elements. I cannot stress enough how important it is to me that I see my temple return to its former glory. Din deserves better.”

“She certainly does,” the priest agreed.

 

* * *

 

Link didn't understand why he was being pulled away and moaned in protest as the magic that flowed through his body lessened. He had a difficult time opening his eyes, and had to fight to remember where he was and what he was doing. Putting up that fight just didn't seem to accomplish anything, so when the fingers touched his lips, he darted out his tongue and tried to force them into his mouth, tried to get that comforting, tingling sensation back.

Ghirahim stared at him, trying to sort his emotions into recognizable, digestible chunks. He still wasn't sure what had set off Link's breakdown, and it was deeply bothering him that he  _ cared _ . It was bothering him so much that it was becoming a distraction during what should be considered one of his greatest victories. Link still sat between his legs, on his knees with his hands splayed out on Ghirahim's thighs, and he was taking to his new training like a duck to water.

...which made the demon lord think that he was so starved for affection, he was latching on to anything he was offered. His needy, wanton pants, his tiny tongue on his fingers, and the desperate whine he made when he finally cracked his eyes open the tiniest bit and gazed up at him with reverence- should have ignited his bloodlust, should have made him want to devour him, soul and all.

Was it possible to feel sorrow? For another person? For a human? Was that a thing?

“Are you still with me, Skychild?” He asked, and Link moved one hand to grab his wrist, nodded, and pulled his head away just a little to kiss his open palm.

“You're not out of your mind?” He asked, and Link stopped, opened his eyes all the way, and tilted his head in confusion. He smiled, leaned forward, and traced letters into Ghirahim's flesh.

_ S-o-G-o-o-d _

__ He wrapped both arms around Ghirahim's neck and brought their lips together, and the magic flowed freely through him again. It was thick, addicting, and the edges of his vision were purple as Ghirahim cradled his face and pulled him away too soon. Link whined again, and Ghirahim stared at him. Humans were so  _ strange _ , but they were normally easy to predict.

“Calm down, Skychild,” he advised, studying Link, trying to figure out what brought on his mood swing.

_ N-o. _

__ “Are you alright? Am I really so enticing that you've gotten so eager? You seemed unsure, cautious earlier. Stop wriggling and making noises. Let me look at you,” he demanded, and Link tried to obey. Ghirahim noticed the faraway, glazed over look in his eyes and his own widened.

Oh.

“Skychild,” he reprimanded, and Link leaned toward him, trying to climb into his lap. It was his own fault. He had been the one to tell him to give into demonic magic, which would be fine if it were a normal session, between friends or lovers, or a celebration like the blood orgy that had broken out after the king's coronation. But he did actually need Link to pay attention, to learn, to understand his body and limitations, and this could become a  _ problem _ .

“I'm glad that you're happy, but you have to focus, do you understand me?” He tried to keep his tone sharp and demanding, and Link nodded frantically.

_ I-A-m-F-o-c-u-s-e-d. _

__ Ghirahim rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to will his power to subside. He knew he was a powerful creature, and the aura he exuded was intoxicating. Possibly the only creature stronger was Demise-  _ Ganondorf _ , he chastised himself- was his master himself. He pulled Link off his lap, where he had successfully managed to put himself, and laid him on his back. Link, for his part, seemed happy to be under the demon lord, and let him guide his hands to the headboard. He didn't protest as he felt the chains materialize around his wrists, but when Ghirahim secured him and sat up, he jerked up to follow him, found he could not, and his anger returned full force.

He screamed and jerked at the chains, so Ghirahim sat one hand, splayed across his chest, and he calmed, almost instantly.

“I suppose you finally feel it,” Ghirahim chuckled, and Link whined, “I think... my magic affects you so strongly because we were bound to be... because we were bound by the red thread of fate, Skychild. And I give you my word that when I am not trying to accomplish something, I will rip your body to shreds. But for now, I need you to calm down until you are able to think clearly. I... wasn't actually  _ trying _ to control you, which is... interesting.”

Link tried a new approach, and whined, trying to put on the most pitiful act possible.

“Stop,” Ghirahim commanded in annoyance, and moved to grab Link's chin in his hand. His lips were puffy swollen, and absolutely gorgeous-  _ focus. _

“Food,” Ghirahim remembered, “Mortals like to eat, don't they? And all the others are doing that right now. It may give you a bit of magical resistance.”

He snapped his fingers, and a tray materialized in a flurry of diamonds over Link's lap. When Ghirahim released his face, Link whined again, and tried to follow him, but the demon lord was reaching for the journal, moving around him, and completely out of his grasp.

“Ghirahim,” he whined, and the demon lord nearly dropped the journal. The knight didn't even seem to have registered the sound he made, that he had spoken, unlike every other time he done so. His eyes were still distant and hazy, but they were watching him with unrestrained lust. Ghirahim stared at the journal in his hand, then back to the man on the bed.

“Yes?” He asked.

“It hurts,” Link moaned.

“Yes, darling,” Ghirahim chuckled, “I know. I told you that we were bound, that you would begin to hunger for me, that your life would narrow. By the time I've finished with you, your sole concern will be to please me and my master.”

He walked slowly around the bed, trailing his ungloved fingertips over Link's bare flesh until he was able to gently guide his face, and Link leaned into the touch willingly.

“You're mine, Skychild. But more than that, you belong to my master, and I need this little fog around your mind to let up. In your current state you would let us rip you apart until you were completely broken and useless. So you're going to eat for me, and if that doesn't work, we'll try a potion. If you can get thoughts in your little head again, I promise to ravage you. I want to see what you can take, do you understand me? If I can't judge your limitations, how can you expect me to break them? You have to work with me.”

Link nodded, and tried to lean up into a kiss, but Ghirahim pulled away with a giggle.

“Eat, Skychild,” he demanded.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I'm formidable at book reading, but I lack, shall we say, physical skills. That said, if the history and legends of Hyrule are your cup of tea, I'm your fellow! If you're curious, just ask away."  
> — Shad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to thank my wonderful Betaer Saint!   
> And I wanna thank the person who posted the long comment on my last chapter You really made me want to write again.
> 
> If anyone is interested in the tip jar, it's right here: https://ko-fi.com/takocos
> 
> Shad was never supposed to be in this story, btw. When I write fanfics I just kinda freewrite them; I'm writing for fun as stress relief so I don't really plan ahead I just write whatever. So... idk, he's here now. I haven't played TP since launch so I legit have no idea why. There's no reason for him. I think I just wanted a translator who wasn't scared of Gan, and he was a member of the resistance, so he's one of very few people with both the sense to be afraid and the gumption to stand his ground anyway. I don't know if he'll come back or not. I guess in this AU he's obsessed with Gerudo instead of those weird fucking Ooccoo. I'm sorry as I can be but those things freak me the fuck out. Like casting Faeore's wind but you dropped a bunch of acid first.

When King Dragmire entered his throne room, he found a guild of Hylians already waiting. The Hylian guards had been replaced by his own troupe of moblins, and the Hylians stood tightly together in a little clique, exchanging nervous glances and pretending not to be afraid. They were gathered in their little bundle around a small table that had been brought in. He hoped that they had been waiting on him for some time, and believed this thought to be correct, because it couldn't have taken them long to lay out the few supplies they had.

Yuga was directing a contingent of dragon warriors, lizalfo for the most part, who were carting the artwork that had been transported from the Gerudo Fortress, but he seemed to be in the mood that sometimes took artists who had to watch other people handle their work. His gestures were guarded and his voice firm but polite; it was easy to see the great rage and annoyance welling within him. It was only his great training and status that prevented it from spilling over. The man exuded the nobility of one used to dealing with only royal patrons, and he would not break over something so trifling as a crew he saw as incompetent, especially when Yuga probably knew as well as anyone that the incompetence existed primarily in his own mind.

When he noticed Ganondorf's entrance he gave him a deep bow, then turned back to the two lizalfos on ladders who were hanging a large, covered painting behind the throne, under the sculpture of the three sacred goddesses.

The king walked past the table, and perhaps felt a bit more intimidating now that he was dealing with Hylians, who were far below him in physical stature, but he was pleased with what he saw from the carpenter's guild. For Hylians, they were all fairly good specimens, though he thought it was strange that there was not a female among them. He couldn’t imagine a pack of unguarded males traveling to the Spirit Temple- the sheer concept was ridiculous. They were just asking to be captured, raped and murdered without protection. Especially given the good genes they obviously carried. The lack of a strong Gerudo influence had made these people relaxed and stupid.

Zant followed him silently, and stood by his side as he sat on the throne, trying his best to look like a regal High Priest who would be discussing the preparations of a high temple, but his mind was still on the missing armory and the thief, and his eyes darted to Yuga. The artist met his gaze and held it for a few seconds, just to let him know that he registered what he was trying to convey, and that they were both concerned. Then, Yuga's eyes flew back to the lizalfos, who had hung the painting and were climbing down. He was apparently pleased by what he saw, and nodded to them approvingly.

He moved to the front of the throne and bowed again, and opened his mouth before any of the Hylians had a chance to speak.

“Your Majesty,” he said as he straightened himself, “The portrait you commissioned is finished, and I cannot wait to unveil it. I trust that you will be completely satisfied.”

“That was fast,” the king replied with concern.

“I assure you, your Majesty,” Yuga smiled, “That I am no ordinary painter. My art is heavily aided by my skill in magic. I would like to schedule a proper unveiling. Perhaps a banquet?”

“That sounds great,” Ganondorf agreed, “Give the snooty Hylian nobility some real culture. We can discuss it tonight, if that's good for you. I have a packed schedule.”

“I'm sure, your majesty. I appreciate your time.” Yuga bowed again and smiled, “I won't keep you.”

He straightened, and moved to turn his attention back to his crew.

“Am I looking at the Hylian Carpenter's Guild?” Ganondorf asked, turning his attention to the group of Hylians still gathered around the table, “Who among you is the leader?”

A well muscled man with a mustache stepped forward, but unlike Yuga he did not bow. He stood with his arms crossed across his chest and made a feeble attempt to stare the king down. Ganondorf was impressed with his courage, and his eyebrows rose as a smile spread across his face. At least they weren't all useless.

“I am Mutoh,” the man said in a voice that did not shake, “leader of the Hylian Carpenter's Guild.”

“Excellent,” Ganondorf rose, “As your new king, I want you to understand that the Desert Temple is of utmost importance to me. As the chosen child of Din, I find it reprehensible that it has been allowed to fall into its current state. The high priest will be working closely with you during construction. Did you get the plans I had delivered to your guild?”

“Yes,” Mutoh gritted his teeth, “Your majesty. Though we had a bit of trouble... understanding them. We had to call in a scholar.”

“What do you mean?” Ganondorf narrowed his eyes.

“The plans we received were in a dead tongue,” Mutoh explained.

“The plans were in  _ Gerudo _ ,” Ganondorf snarled, and pushed past him to make it to the table. The plans that were laid out were not the ones he had sent, and he whirled on the guild's leader. “Where are the plans I sent you?”

“Right here, sir,” one of the men stepped forward from the group, and bowed respectfully. He held the original plans, scrolled tightly in one hand, and offered them to the king as he stood. “I hope I haven't overstepped my bounds. I took the liberty of carefully replicating the original twice: the copy you see before you and another,” he pulled a second scroll from his bag, “in the original Gerudo language.”

Ganondorf took both and unrolled the parchment that was obviously newer. He eyed it carefully, distrustful of any Hylian scholar, and was shocked to see how well the recreation had been done.

“Your name,” he demanded.

“I am Shad of Castle Town, your majesty.” The man stood in a Hylian salute.

“You speak Gerudo?” Ganondorf asked in his native language and the man's face lit up as if he had won the lottery.

“I do not, mighty Queen,” He replied in the thickest accent Ganondorf had ever heard, though his pronunciation was passable, “For I have never before heard it spoken. But I read it as well as I can. I feel honored to hear it spoken.”

“That was terrible,” Ganondorf spoke in Hylian as he rolled the scroll once more, “You call yourself a scholar?”

“Yes sir, a scholar,” Shad bowed his head in shame, but he could express himself much more clearly in Hylian, “A researcher. I have never had the pleasure of hearing such an elegant language spoken aloud before. I dream of learning how to speak it properly. I would love to see a resurgence. Much of the noble culture was lost after the Gerudo wars.”

Ganondorf watched him, and took in the knowledge that his culture was now considered a piece of history even by people who considered themselves learned. Even Hylian academics considered his people a relic lost to time, as if he were not alive, not standing before them. The knowledge that he was being treated as a sort of spectacle, as more of a museum exhibit than a living person ate away at him. What was more, this man looked at him as if he expected him, because he was a Gerudo, to be a walking encyclopedia, an expert on the entire race. He seemed to expect him to teach him the language. As if this Hylian- a Hylian  _ man _ no less- had any right to expect these things. The Great King was not a spectacle, and he was certainly not a schoolteacher.

But he was getting ready to take petitioners. And he would not have his children in Hylian academia learning about their own culture from ignorant historians like the pathetic man standing before him.

“This man is an  _ expert  _ on Gerudo culture?” Ganondorf asked the room, and Shad raised his head.

He swallowed and spoke, “I do not claim to be an  _ expert _ , my King. But you will find that I have more knowledge than most Hylians. I am a historian, and I have always felt great sorrow to see the Gerudo meet the fate they did. It isn't as if the entire race was  _ really  _ the group of warmongering thieves that most Hylian historians make them out to be. I think that the accounts of raping and pillaging have been vastly exaggerated. After all, they say that 'history is written by the victors'. And the few Gerudo texts that I have been able to find paint a very different picture. I could not allow the culture to die with its people.”

“WE AREN'T DEAD!” Ganondorf screamed with such ferocity that everyone in the room stopped and stared at him.

“I... of course sir,” Shad's voice was shaking now, “I didn't mean... I was just trying to explain my passion for-”

“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I STRIKE YOU DEAD WHERE YOU STAND, YOU PATHETIC VOE!” Ganondorf commanded, and Shad took a step backward, but did not break his salute. Impressed by his courage, but angered by his stupidity, the Great King covered the ground between them in two steps and leaned down to be on his level.

His voice was low, calm, and cold when he spoke again.

“Aren't you afraid of me, voe?”

“I'm terrified, sir.” Shad swallowed, “But my will is strong, and you are absolutely fascinating. The kingdom needs to know your story, told not by those who oppose you, but by your own words.”

Ganondorf stood back to his full height and looked down at the man shaking in his boots, but who, nonetheless, held his ground.

“Leave your address with my staff,” the king said at length, “and you will receive a letter. If you can decipher it, follow its instructions. And for the love of god, travel with a warrior.”

“Thank you, sir,” Shad bowed again, and when he rose, he was smiling.

“Now leave my presence. You irk me so badly I must collect myself before I can look at you again,” Ganondorf explained, “And never again tell me that my people are dead. In fact, never tell a person who stands before you, drawing breath, a person who still has blood in their veins and magic in their soul, that their people are  _ dead _ . I am a Gerudo. Therefore, there are living Gerudo. We do not fall as easily as you Hylians imagine.”

It was not until these words hit his ears that Shad realized what he had done. His ears lowered with the shame he felt as his face began to turn pink.

“I apologize sir, from the very depths of my soul.” He said, “I'll take my leave. Thank you, for your kindness and consideration. The fact that I leave this room alive disproves everything I have read about you from Hylian scholars.”

“Don't believe everything you read,” Ganondorf advised, and Shad nodded, then turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the room between the rows of moblins. The king watched him go, impressed with the fortitude he had seen. It was possible that there were a few decent specimens among the Hylians, and he made a mental note to mark the name and address he would receive. It was always a good idea to keep a list of decent voe, in case one of his daughters ever needed it.

“Now,” Ganondorf turned his attention back to the carpenters, “Let's discuss the temple. The project has been pushed back, because I am not about to send this entire guild into the desert to burn up and die.”

 

* * *

 

Link didn't notice his head clearing, because it happened so gradually. He just noticed that the fascination he held with Ghirahim faded as he continued to eat. He had been angry with him for leaving him, for withdrawing and taking his intoxicating magic with him, for being disappointed in him, and for forcing the stupid sushi on him, but that anger faded the more he ate. He didn't remember being chained, but he didn't feel like he needed them. After all, he was still dealing with the damned crystal on his forehead.

Ghirahim had wandered the room, talking as he did things, and Link had been angry about that, and tuned most of it out, but when his emotions faded a little, and he found himself more able to use logic, he regretted letting himself get out of hand, because Ghirahim seemed to be explaining things he needed to know, and he had missed most of it.

“...clothes right here by the make-up,” Ghirahim was saying, “So just do the routine I just went over and you should be fine. After we finish up, I'll be spending the afternoon with my,” he huffed, “ _ warriors _ , but I think you should try to sleep, because if I know my master, and I do, I believe that you and I will be spending the night in Lorule hunting down that annoying little wind mage. I don't think Master Ganondorf will be able to abandon his post at the castle with the Hylians still so distrustful, and I don't think he'll be willing to wait until the morning. I'm almost certain that he will send the two of us the second that I tell him. Honestly, Skychild, at this point I'm on damage control. I just don't want him to fly into a rage because I hate to see him in distress, and I'm not sure you would survive it. After all, the only reason you ever survived any of your encounters was because of the sword you wielded. Are you still with me, Skychild?”

Link shook his head, because he knew he had missed something important and wouldn't be able to bluff his way through it. He was normally good at figuring things out, but he had completely tuned out.

“Thank the goddesses,” Ghirahim sighed, and did seem truly thankful, “That must mean that you're able to  _ think _ . You've just been agreeing with everything I said like an idiot because you thought that if you told me what I wanted to hear it would somehow trick me into putting my dick inside you.”

Link felt the heat creeping into his face, and felt around for his journal, which he found open on the bed beside him.

_ That's not what that was and you know it, ass. Now take these chains off. I'm not going to jump you. I... guess that demonic magic is kinda strong. Can you just, you know, not? _

__ He held it up and Ghirahim read it as he took the empty tray and threw it into the ether in a flurry of diamonds.

“No, Skychild, I'm afraid I can't control it. I just happen to be a particularly strong demon. It doesn't shock me that you can't resist me.”

Link rolled his eyes and went back to writing.

_ Oh get over yourself. Are we finished? This whole thing is _

He paused looked up at Ghirahim, and chewed his bottom lip.

_ Weird. And take these goddamn chains off of me. Why are you always chaining me up? I can't escape. I'm under a spell. _

__ “The chains, Skychild, were not to prevent escape, as you damn well know.” Ghirahim snapped his fingers, and when the chains disappeared Link rubbed his wrists. He didn't realize how much he had pulled against them, and the skin had been rubbed raw in places.

“As I told you before,” Ghirahim walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in to sit beside him, “I need you to be in your right mind. I need to know if this body is going to break. Because right after he breaks you in tonight, I'm fairly certain we'll be going into a fight. And possibly a hunt. We may be out on the field for a while trying to find all those weapons that sneaky little rabbit stole. I need to know if this is something a potion or a fairy can fix, or if you're going to be completely useless to me.”

Link sighed, and Ghirahim heard the familiar sound of pen on parchment.

_ You have no idea how badly I don't want to do this. _

__ “Well,” Ghirahim shrugged, “I suppose there's no accounting for taste.”

_ Can you please stop being a complete dick for two minutes? Look, I don't have anybody to talk to. You keep saying that you care about me, that you see something in me, but you also say that you want to torture me, that you blame me for stuff I didn't do and want to see me suffer. Well, the guy who said that won. The Ghirahim who wants to see my mind shatter and my body break has won if this happens tonight. _

__ “You've been strange since your little crying fit, Skychild,” Ghirahim settled back into the pillows.

_ If you let him do this, he's won. This is a GERUDO thing, not a DEMON thing. I get that you people just have dance-floor orgies and stuff every time something good happens. That's not what this is. The Gerudo would steal Hylian men, their prisoners of war, and rape them, sometimes to death. This is a thing that has been talked about for generations. It's part of the reason we wiped them out. They were practically monsters; full of malice and hate who stole men who wandered too far in the desert or stayed out too late at night. _

__ _ This is not bonding. This is him exerting power over me. He wants me to know that I'm his prisoner, that he can do whatever he wants with me and there's nothing I can do to stop him. I can't do this. Please, please, if you weren't lying to me, if what you said earlier was true and you actually care about me and think I can be a warrior or whatever, if you think that we're bound by this 'red string of fate'- don't let this happen. _

__ “By the goddesses, Skychild, you're crying again,” Ghirahim sighed, wrapped both arms around Link's shoulders, and pulled him into his lap, “Do you have any idea how annoying this is? To see someone so strong act so weak? Because it makes me want to tear you limb from limb. You are better than this. Stop it.”

Link buried his face in Ghirahim's shoulder, and traced letters into his chest.

_ L-e-t-M-e-G-o-O-r-K-i-l-l-M-e _

“Skychild. Stop.” Ghirahim commanded, “This is nonsense.” He pulled Link's face up with both hands and forced him to look into his eyes, “You need to stop thinking in categories. This  _ is  _ a power play, but it's also a bonding experience, and it will not kill you. He doesn't  _ want  _ to kill you. You will survive, and you  _ could  _ enjoy it if you let go of all these thoughts that are dragging you down. What you don't know about the Gerudo could fill a library. But the most important thing to remember is that this is going to happen  _ regardless  _ of how you feel about it. But you  _ do  _ get to control that. You cannot control the situation, but you can control how you think and act. A true warrior does not give in to sorrow.”

“This is a lesson for you, Skychild,” he went on, “In survival. You will be amazed how  _ easy  _ it becomes to give in to the will of another. You are a natural servant, just as I am. And whether you believe it or not, you deserve a master who is worthy of you. Give in to your true master. Let him conquer you. Let go of these stupid notions and set yourself free.”

He picked up Link's left hand and traced the faint, dark outline of the triforce there with his thumb, “Besides, aren't you even the slightest bit curious what will happen? When two chosen avatars of gods among mortals come together so intimately? Aren't you interested? If the demonic magic that flows through me has such a powerful impact on you, don't you want to know what sacred, holy magic will do to you?”

“It's strange for me,” he continued, still staring at Link's hand, “Demise never had holy magic flowing through him. When we were together we matched, perfectly. After all, I was made for him. But Ganondorf has  _ always  _ been a priest of Din, most of his magic is light in alignment- like those attacks you play ping pong with,” he stopped to think, and a smile spread across his face. “Oh, it was so  _ different _ . It hurt... it tried to tear me apart, made it difficult for me to maintain a mortal form... you feel just like that. You're the same.”

_ I-m-S-o-r-r-y. _

Link hated himself for writing it. What the hell was he apologizing for? Was he going mad among these madmen? He had a right to hurt Ghirahim, and he hadn't even meant to do it. He was filled with light magic because he had been chosen by the goddesses.

“Pain isn't always _bad_ , Skychild,” Ghirahim chuckled and Link felt it from where he had his head resting on his chest, “Pain can be  _ wonderful _ . Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness, are two sides of the same coin, and it's possible to teeter on that edge, where you can't accurately tell one from the other, and it's an amazing sensation, better than either could ever be on their own. You and I... can give that sensation, each of us to the other. That's why it can get so intense so easily. I'm going to hurt you  _ so badly _ , Skychild. Not right now, no matter how much you beg, but I give you my word that when the time presents itself, I will destroy you, and you will thank me.”

_ L-i-k-e-W-h-e-n-Y-o-u-B-r-o-k-e-T-h-e-B-e-d? _

“In our defense, this Hylian furniture is a flimsy trap,” Ghirahim shook the bedframe to demonstrate, “But yes. Exactly like that. Now, get off my lap and lie down on your back, and I'll show you. And if you start crying again, I'm warning you now that I'm going to slap you. My patience has worn thin with it. If I thought you were a weak little whelp it wouldn't bother me, but you aren't. You're stronger than this, and you need to just learn your lesson, accept it, and move on. You're capable of doing that.”

Link huffed to indicate that he disagreed, but he didn't want to make a whole big thing about it, or move to write, because Ghirahim was holding him with one hand on his back, and kissing him, moving that long, wriggling tongue around his mouth, and the demonic magic was flowing through him again. Ghirahim took the journal and laid it on the bed, still within Link's reach, as he lifted the hero and laid him gently on his back. He broke the kiss and simply looked down at Link from his position, kneeling between his legs, towering over him.

“It's alright to be afraid,” Ghirahim smiled, “It's not alright to allow that fear to control you. Remember what my master said? That as long as you have your life you have hope? Don't be afraid of Master Ganondorf. He won't take his revenge on you. He doesn't blame you. He  _ wants  _ you. And both of us are going to make you feel pleasure beyond your most embarrassing dreams.”

Ghirahim licked his lips, and snapped his fingers. Link watched with interest as a small bottle appeared in a field of diamonds, and he felt the heat spread across his face when he realized what it was.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganondorf and Ghirahim both successfully hold back the urge to slap the shit out of someone.
> 
> Also, more porn. 
> 
> "Now that amazing concoction is called "Stamina Potion". Drinking it will cause your stamina gauge to decrease more slowly for a short time. It's a little pricey but I bet you'll find yourself in a situation where a boost of stamina will make it worthwhile." ~ Potion Shop Owner, Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank my beta reader, Saint, again! Everything is so much better because of your editing skills, not just because of the work you do, but because I self-edit before I post now, knowing that someone is going to be reading it has forced me to hold myself to higher standards!
> 
> If anyone is interested in the tip jar, it's right here: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

“Because I'm forced to delay the restoration of my sacred temple,” Ganondorf stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at the translated plans for the temple, trying to remain stoic, refusing to show how much the delay hurt him, “we will spend the time we have building a school in Castle Town.  There is an unused field,” he summoned a map and rolled it out on the table, waited while the carpenters pinned it into place, and continued, “here, just outside the castle which, as far as I can see is currently serving no purpose.”   
“The royal family likes to keep that meadow for the queen,” Mutoh explained, “It lies within the castle grounds.”  He moved his hand to indicate the same area, then farther down to a gate with a guard-post, “This is the area that separates the castle ground from Castle Town.  It's constantly patrolled by guards.”   
“I know I will regret asking this,” Ganondorf resigned himself to accepting the stupidity in the answer he would receive for the question he was about to ask, “but why?  There's nothing there.  No crops, no royal stronghold, nothing to guard.  It's just a patch of grass.”   
“The castle was originally built because of the close proximity to the fairy fountain here,” Mutoh said, as if it were an explanation.   
The king stared at him, expecting him to elaborate, and when he didn't, Ganondorf sighed, and implied that he should continue with what he believed to be a universal hand motion.   
“I don't think the royalty wants the common folk that close to fairy magic.  I've never seen a great fairy but I've been told that they're terrifying.”  Mutoh shrugged.   
“You cannot possibly believe me to expect that you people have all this green, fertile land,” Ganondorf massaged his temples with one hand, “And you do nothing with it because you are afraid of fairies.”   
He sighed, and let his eyes wander the clueless, stupid faces of the men before him.  He was not prepared to slaughter his new subjects on the basis of stupidity alone, but the more time he spent among them the more his resolve wavered.   
“Given that the reasoning is stupid, I want a Hylian architect- you, Mutoh, I am assuming, are an architect, correct?” Ganondorf asked, fighting a headache.   
“I don't know what that is,” Mutoh said with no hint of embarrassment.   
“Someone who designs structures so that they do not immediately fall to the ground the first time the sand shifts,” Ganondorf explained, pulling from his vast reserves of patience.   
“Oh, so an engineer.  Yeah, we got those in the military.  Right here in the barracks.  Shouldn't be too hard to get one of 'em.  I think that they're working on the tower for the mask festival, though.  They might not want to pull themselves away.”  Mutoh stood back and crossed his arms over his chest again.   
“This takes priority over the upcoming festival,” Ganondorf commanded, “I expect to see plans for my new academy by tomorrow morning.  I want construction to begin this week.  I want it finished by the time I have clothing prepared for the crew to send out to the Desert Temple.”   
“That sounds pretty fast.  How much time is that?” Mutoh asked.     
Ganondorf was not accustomed to having his orders questioned.   
“Hylians ask a lot of questions,” he remarked, “For people who know so little.  Go, right now, after this meeting, and find one of these engineers.  Have her draw up the plans for the academy and then have her come directly to me, here, in the throne room.  If it is any later than tomorrow morning, I won't stand for it.  I'm not sure how your late queen ran things, but just rest assured that you no longer have time to dawdle.  From now on, we move quickly.”   
“Do we even have enough scholars to warrant an academy?” Mutoh asked, and Ganondorf could not believe the audacity he had.   
He stared at him, trying to work through his disbelief, for a fairly long while, until he was able to get the rage welling within him to subside.   
“Hylian,” He eventually said, “Your culture's practice of educating only the most wealthy pupils is at its end.  I am signing into law, later today, the idea that every child in Hyrule that wants an education will receive one.  You have more children than you know what to do with.  I saw them in the streets of castle town stealing from shopkeeps and running wild.”   
“We call those 'street urchins'.” Mutoh said as if it were an explanation.   
“Lovely,” Ganondorf huffed.   
“There's a war on.  A lot of the parents didn't come back.” Mutoh went on.   
“So they just wander the streets?” Ganondorf's eyes widened in disbelief.  The Gerudo were a collectivist culture.  Children were rare prized creatures, and each one had a half dozen aunts who were ready and willing to take her in if something had happened to her parents.  Many of them knew no strangers.  He reasoned that in a culture without that closeness, perhaps those children were not the little hellions he had pegged them for.  Was it really possible that no one was raising them?  That they were alone and starving?   
During the entirety of his capture and subsequent servitude, Link had never asked about any parents.  Did he not have them?   
Hylian culture made him physically ill.   
“Yeah, I mean, what are they going to do?” Mutoh asked.   
“Tell your engineer that we need dormitories, like the ones in the soldier's barracks,” Ganondorf said by way of explanation.   
  
“He's going to snap,” Yuga mused as he cozied up to Zant, who still stood by the throne.    
“I hope not,” Zant sighed, “But trying to straighten out these Hylians is already taken it's toll and it hasn't even been an entire day.  I can see the god within him straining to escape.  I fear for them when he unleashes his wrath.  But it may be for the best.  Perhaps the best thing to do would be to scorch the earth, wipe this pathetic civilization to the ground and rise anew from the ashes.  I'm not sure that there is anything here worth saving.”   
“By the goddesses,” Yuga took a step away to stare at him, “do you really think so little of us?  You see nothing in Hylian culture worth preserving?”   
“I've never been to Lorule,” Zant shrugged, “But I've seen nothing here to impress me.  Everything has been mismanaged so severely that these people don't even understand how bad they have it.  They cling to a sense of superiority for reasons that I can't understand.  They can't even unite themselves.  Marauders and thieves run rampant.  I've seen drought and scarcity in the outlands, yet this palace wastes resources for no reason.  When we fought them, I saw children as young as ten on the battlefield.”   
Yuga had no response to that, so decided to change the subject.     
“Does he know about the armory?” He asked.   
Zant shook his head.  “No.  Ghirahim believes that we should wait until he is in a good mood to tell him, and apparently has a plan to put him in better spirits that involves the hero.  I don't know that any such plan will work given the stress Master Ganondorf is under.  But when I tried to say that he cut me off and told me to speak of it no more.”   
“Something must be done,” Yuga agreed, “I should return home, even if I have to go alone.  I could at least see if he has done any damage.  Perhaps I could speak to Ravio alone.  Sometimes he listens to reason.  ...Rarely does he listen, but it does happen.  Perhaps if I could get Queen Hilda to talk some sense into him...”   
“I don't think you should travel alone,” Zant shook his head again.  “It's dangerous to go alone.  We should sneak away and talk to Ghirahim about his plan, and how slowly it's moving.  It feels as if we have a finite amount of time.”   
“I have the paintings hung.  I agree.  But we can't be confrontational.  We just need to talk to him.  You really freaked him out when you just teleported in there and started screaming.”   
“I don't handle it very well,” Zant admitted, “When things don't go according to plan.  I'm not very emotionally stable.  I'm working on it.  But it's difficult to go from a world full of chaos, danger, and fear to a position of power.  I know how easily it can all come crumbling to the ground.”   
“It won't.” Yuga assured him, “We won't let it come to that.”   
  
* * *   
  
Link had the comforter balled up in both hands, which were thrown out to his sides.  His head was cloudy, and he was glad for it.  For the first time in so long, he wasn't being required to think.  Gone were the worries about the safety of the queen, the uncertainty surrounding Fi's escape, even the concern over his own well being.  He didn't think about the sister and grandmother who would be worried to death over the fact that the kingdom had fallen and his fate was uncertain.  He didn't think about his fellow soldiers or what may be happening to them.  He didn't think about the Sheikah boy he saw in the rafters during the coronation.   
He didn't think.   
He just felt.  He felt the dark magic that radiated into him.  He felt Ghirahim's tongue down his throat, spasming and convulsing and filling him.  He felt one of Ghirahim's hands spread out on his chest, pinning him to the bed.  And he felt the other inside him, slicked with the warm oil and pressing over and over again onto something that sent bolts of lightning down his spine.  Right now, in this second, he was allowing himself this brief illusion of pleasure and happiness.  Later, he would just fold the guilt in with the rest of the negativity that dominated his life.  But for now, he could pretend, and enjoy the hedonistic pleasures of the flesh before that, like everything else, was taken from him.   
He moaned in protest as Ghirahim pulled away, but obeyed him when he heard him tell him to breath.  It was more difficult than he had expected, and part of the haze that surrounded him fell away as the burning in his lungs subsided.  Thoughts began to plague him again, and he hated the feeling.  He blamed Ghirahim, and glared at him.   
“Don't give me that look, Skychild,” Ghirahim laughed, “I know you're enjoying yourself.”   
He hit the spot inside Link particularly hard, and the lightning paralyzed him for a fraction of a second.  He dug into the comforter and moaned again without realizing he had done either, and it was only after he regained some small measure of awareness that he realized he had wrapped his legs around Ghirahim's waist.   
Fuck thinking.   
He had to get him to do that again.   
Ghirahim's laugh had been annoying once, he was pretty sure.  He felt a hatred that he could not place, but the association was fading now that it seemed to accompany the only real pleasure he had felt after days of isolation and pain.  So he moved his legs and arms to brace himself, and bucked down on the fingers inside him.   
“My eager little slave,” Ghirahim purred, “I love seeing you like this, Skychild.  Pleasure looks lovely on you.  Darkness looks lovely in you.  This is where you are meant to be.  You know that you never felt like this under your precious queen.  I'm going to make you fall apart, and then I'm going to take you, claim you, and you are going to beg me.”   
He said it as if it were an accomplishment, but Link felt like begging now.  He didn't feel as if he had been conquered.  He felt broken by design.  He could fight.  He knew that if he really wanted to he could resist; he was unchained, and the magic that compelled him did not make him docile.  He didn't have to be a perfect little pet; he could fight tooth and nail.  But he just didn't feel like it.  And it would be easier to get what he wanted if he gave Ghirahim what he wanted.  He wondered if Ghirahim knew that he was using him.  He wondered if they were using each other.   
He decided it didn't matter.   
He made up his mind to beg, because it would get him what he wanted.   
“Please,” he asked, and his voice came out so much smoother with no thoughts in the way.   
“Perfection,” Ghirahim moved the hand on his chest to his hair and pulled, and Link offered no resistance.  There was a bruise forming on his neck to match the one under his hair, and Ghirahim kissed it so lightly the fallen hero barely felt it.   
“More,” Link begged, and laced one hand in Ghirahim's hair, and let the other dig into the back of his neck.   
“I have never heard this pretty broken voice sound so beautiful, Skychild,” Ghirahim mused with what seemed to be sincerity, “Is it only for me?  Only when we're alone?”   
Link couldn't shake his head as vigorously as he wanted because Ghirahim was holding him too tightly.   
“No?” Ghirahim laughed, and Link laced his fingers together behind his neck.  There was mirth in his voice as he continued, “And here I thought we had something special, Skychild.”   
Link bucked into his fingers with all his strength.  He could feel the tension, the heat that collected from the touch, the voice, the sensations, and it was almost enough.  It was so different, so strange- he had a vague recollection of Ghirahim promising him pleasure that he had never felt before.  He tried to pull the demon down, to get the skin to skin connection, to get any kind of friction, and when he resisted, he braced on his shoulders and bucked his hips up as high as he could, but suddenly Ghirahim's hand was out of his hair and pressing him back into the bed.   
“No, Skychild,” he commanded, and Link whined.   
“Just relax.  You don't need it.  You have to learn to take what you're given.  Trust me, darling, I know how to touch you.” Ghirahim assured him.   
Link whined again and shoved against him.  If he could just get any contact, it would push him over the edge.  He was so close he could feel it.  So close it hurt.   
“Look at you,” Ghirahim purred, “You look exactly like I knew you would.  You're a natural servant, Skychild, and you fall apart so easily under the proper guidance.”     
Link nodded, and squirmed, trying to press against his fingers.  He didn't really register what he was agreeing to, but it seemed to be what Ghirahim wanted to hear, because he laughed and hit hard again, and resisted so easily when Link tried to pull him down.   
“When I find myself with you again, when I can have you properly, without testing, without training- I am going to destroy you, Skychild.” Ghirahim watched him with approval, “I'm going to leave you broken and bruised.  I'm going to choke you until you can no longer cling to consciousness.  I'm going to bring you to the brink of death and walk you through the nicest parts of hell.  I give you my oath.”   
If Link had been thinking, he would have remembered why those things sounded so appealing, but instead he just let his body shudder and accepted it without question.  He nodded in agreement without considering it, because it didn't have to make sense, it just had to happen.  It needed to happen right now.  He was so close, had been too close for too long; his stomach was tying itself in knots, his balls were far too tight, and his poor dick hung between them, apparently forgotten, begging him to do something, anything-   
Yet when he tried to rut against Ghirahim or buck up, the demon held him firm.  His whimpering contained real pain, and he slid one hand down Ghirahim's arm, and rested it over the hand keeping him pinned to the bed.   
“Please,” he begged.   
“Just relax, Skychild,” Ghirahim soothed, “Stop resisting.  You don't need it.”   
Link tried.  But it was impossible.  He couldn't tell the difference anymore; his entire nervous system lit up with pleasure, but his stomach was so tense he was forced to bend nearly double, and everything he thought should be feeling pleasure felt as if it were on fire.   
“Let us strike a bargain, Skychild,” Ghirahim said with a cruel grin, but Link didn't understand him.  His eyes were closed, and he was letting out whines and whimpers that didn't seem to give him enough time to breath.   
“Listen to me,” Ghirahim snapped, and Link nodded.   
“Spread your legs,” the demon commanded, and Link obeyed immediately, and could not decide if it were a wise decision or if he should be plagued with regret.  He was sure he was dying, but it didn't really bother him.  Ghirahim hadn't changed his pace or force, but the new angle was too much, and he screamed.   
“If you cum for me, without touching yourself, right now,” Ghirahim leaned down and finally pressed their bodies together, and Link screamed again, then felt the warm breath on his ear as Ghirahim promised, “then I'll finally fuck you.”   
Link hadn't meant to obey, but Ghirahim stopped moving and just held him, inside and out, pressing against his prostate as he shrieked and went rigid.  He held him until he started squirming again, and then the assault became a massage.  Link was confused and overstimulated, and didn't know what to do except cling to his lover for dear life and let it happen.  The orgasm pulled through him and unwound slowly, instead of all at once and with great force, and it left him drained and exhausted.  He felt that he may have been crying, but he wasn't willing to move his arms to check.  He couldn't even keep them around Ghirahim's neck, and just let himself collapse.   
He tried to remember to breath.   
He really needed something to drink, but could not remember how to make that happen.  He had no idea how to get water, or anything else, besides a vague idea of a kitchen, so he tried to ask for it.  But his voice refused him, and he couldn't lift his arms.   
“Drink this, Skychild, your stamina is abysmal,” Ghirahim commanded, and Link let him lift his head and guide the bottle to his lips.   
Not water.   
A stamina potion?   
Link blinked up at Ghirahim, and remembered that they weren't finished.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganondorf is plagued by memories from the Child Timeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all introspection and just backstory that you all already know. It chronicals the Child Timeline taking most of it's content from the Child Timline via Ocarina of Time, The Hyrule Historia, and Twilight Princess. Hyrule Warriors Gan is unique in that he's lived through all three timelines and he kind of has to live with these different experiences. Since Arbiter's Grounds exists, I'm guessing that whenever Hyrule Warriors takes place, it's on the child timeline, and if I'm wrong, I'd really like someone to correct me because it might fuck up the story as it goes along. But nothing is set in stone and I'm not clinging to the canon timeline too ferociously. We're just here to have fun.
> 
> As always, I wanna thank my great beta reader, Saint!
> 
> And if you want to leave a tip, feel free to do so here: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

King Dragmire stared at the plans for his temple. The throne room had more or less emptied, and even with the moblin guards, the only people who remained, he felt painfully alone. He grasped into the ether, and a map appeared in a cloud of purple smoke. He carefully rolled the plans into a scroll, and rolled the map out on his lap.

_ Arbiter's Grounds. _

__ It was written on the map, in the place “Temple of Din” should be. These Hylians didn't even call her Din. They called her “the sand goddess”, as if she were a separate entity, as if she had been some invention, as if no real goddess would watch over and guard the Gerudo. An “arbiter” was someone who settled a dispute. Hylians considered genocide a solution. Daphnes considered eradication a victory.

Grounds.

Ruins.

Death.

Ganondorf Dragmire was a man who existed, yet did not exist. He pulled existence from the brink of atrophy, stitched together a broken soul from three different timelines, outside of time and space. He housed the soul of a god, the power of a goddess, and the responsibility of a leader. He had accepted this as a child, and though it was a heavy burden, very little struck fear into his heart.

He traced the spot on the map that had been his childhood home with perfectly manicured fingertips.

Male Gerudo were rare, and therefore prized. Their children would be stronger than those studded by any voe, and they needed to be protected. Ganondorf had been raised with the knowledge that he was different, special, but not unique. Every century or so there would be another like him, but it was rare for a Gerudo to live over a century, rare to ever meet another creature like himself. He had trained with his sisters, then on his own, had been groomed from a young age to accept his post as High Priest and King without question.

Gerudo were not children of the desert. Gerudo did not always live in the desert, not everywhere. Not in Termina, for example. But in Hyrule... things were different.

Queen Zelda had died when Ganondorf was a teenager. As King, it was his responsibility to travel with his entourage to pay his condolences to her family, but his royal status did not protect him from the brunt of Hylian ideas. When he arrived at the castle he bowed to another ruler, for the first time in his life, and many things happened at once. The world tore apart at the seams, came apart around him.

_ Arbiter's Grounds. _

__ Daphnes did not like him, nor his warriors. He was itching to do something, do more, but Ganondorf's mothers had warned him before he set out to be always on guard. One could not sleep deeply in the home of their enemy. But Ganondorf had been young, and idealistic. He wanted to believe that treaties were possible. He was the Chosen One. He could bring peace to Hyrule, and restore his people to their rightful place. If he could not, no one could. He was a hero.

Then a child had a nightmare.

Ganondorf had just regained his feet when the princess rushed into the room, with another child on her heels, and Ganondorf smiled. Children were precious to the Gerudo, and he could not imagine the pain of losing a mother. His mother, Twinrova, was a mighty warrior, and he did not fear for her safety, but it had been told that Queen Zelda had been the mightiest mage among the Hylians, and he felt a kinship with her child. Princess Zelda probably never believed she would lose her mother, either. But death was a constant. One day, he would feel her pain.

“Daddy,” She said in a panic, and the King's attendant, Impa, bent at the waist to stroke her face, to calm her. Ganondorf was not shocked by her next words, but the pain cut through him all the same. “I don't trust that man! He has evil eyes!”

“Evil eyes,” Avil rolled her own eyes, “Even their children judge us.”

Ganondorf knelt to he on her level and tried to keep his voice as non-threatening as possible.

“Young one,” he smiled, “I assure you, there is nothing wrong with my eyes. They are simply different from what you are used to. I have Gerudo eyes. Because I am a Gerudo.”

The boy standing behind Zelda glared at him, and Ganondorf was confused. The boy was not dressed like a nobleman. He wasn't dressed like any Hylian Ganondorf had ever seen. But  _ he  _ certainly had evil eyes, filled to the brim with hate and sorrow. He had the eyes of an adult, plagued by a lifetime of hardships. It made no sense for one so young.

Zelda ignored him, and focused on pleading with her father.

“He has come to destroy us!” She said this with absolute certainty, and Ganondorf was saddened by the accusation. What age, he wondered, did Hylians learn to fear other races? Was it normal to see such prejudice in one so young? Did Hylians not have a concept of childhood innocence?

“Zelda,” Daphnes shushed her, “This man is a diplomat. You should return to the garden.” He leaned down and whispered something that the Gerudo King could not hear.

“But I have foreseen it!” Zelda protested, “In my dreams! This man is plotting our downfall as we speak! If we wait to act, Father, you will die. The kingdom will be plunged into darkness.”

“Zelda,” he began again, but she cut him off.

“I can prove it!” She motioned for the boy with the evil eyes, “This is Link of the Lost Woods! He has traveled through time and defeated this evil man in the future! He is the chosen Hero of the goddesses! He has not only foreseen these events, he has lived them!”

“This is a serious accusation,” Impa spoke quietly, but with much force.

The boy stepped forward and lifted his left hand. A bright light filled the room, and when it faded, the mark of the goddesses still shone on his flesh. Avil nearly dropped her staff to form the sacred triforce symbol with her hands, the other guards had gone slack jawed, and Ganondorf stared in awe. It was impossible. Ganondorf himself was the chosen hero. He was a priest. He had dedicated his life to the goddesses.

It clicked almost instantly.

Three goddesses.

Three triforces.

Three chosen ones.

This boy was not a nobleman. This boy was not a  _ Hylian _ .

He had not spoken.

“By the goddesses,” Daphnes said at length, and the boy, Link, nodded.

“We have to act before he does!” Zelda pleaded.

“Yes. Of course.” Daphnes rose and motioned to Impa, who motioned to her guards, who came forward and jerked Ganondorf to his feet, roughly. The Gerudo guards stepped back, still in shock, still in awe, awaiting instruction, but Ganondorf was as confused as they were.

It was Avil who made the obvious request.

“We would like to hear these accusations against our king from the hero himself.”

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Link. He stared back at her without fear, then glared at Ganondorf with hate. He nodded.

“He does not speak,” Zelda explained, “he has a nervous affliction-”

“Then how do you know his story?” Avil demanded, speaking to the child directly.

“We understand each other,” Zelda said as if it were an explanation, then to her father, “He will kill you and plunge the kingdom into darkness.”

“I will not!” Ganondorf looked to Avil, then back to the king, “Surely, you cannot condemn a man for crimes he has yet to commit; may never commit! Not on the basis that a child had a nightmare! Children have nightmares all the time! I, myself, used to have a reoccurring dream where I would be stabbed through the chest. I would wake up crying. Children have nightmares!”

“My child,” Daphnes stepped forward, “Is a prophet.”

“I have done nothing!” Ganondorf protested.

“He has poisoned the Deku tree!” Zelda accused.

“I,” Ganondorf faltered. The Kokiri had nothing to do with the Hylians. There was no way she could have known. Then his eyes darted to the boy in green. But the Kokiri could not leave the forest. What was this child? Was he a child?

“Our great king,” Avil explained, “Is the chosen child of the goddesses. We were on a sacred, holy quest to amass the sacred pearls, so that they could be sealed and protected within the goddesses temple deep in the Gerudo desert.”

“So you admit it,” Daphnes snapped.

“We are doing the work of the goddesses,” Avil met his gaze and did not falter, “On land that does not belong to you. This quest is no concern of the Hylians.”

“Everything,” Daphnes countered, “Belongs to the glorious house of Hyrule: the fields, the forests, the lakes, the mountains- even that pathetic wasteland you call home. You are  _ allowed  _ to exist as a memorial to my wife's kindness. Take him to the dungeon.”

“This is madness!” Ganondorf called, as the Hylian guards jerked him back.

“To await his execution,” Daphnes concluded, and Ganondorf felt a great power welling within him.

“You cannot execute the Chosen One!” Avil's cool finally broke, and panic seemed to bubble below her calm surface.

“I do not intend to,” Daphnes motioned to Link, who stepped forward, so young, yet so fierce. Ganondorf hated the adult who looked out from within the body of that child.

“Your majesty,” Avil turned to Ganondorf and ordered, “Flee!”

“I will not leave you in this strange land!” Ganondorf shook his head, then turned to Daphnes, “You and your heir are blinded by sorrow. This is a mistake! I am the chosen child of the goddesses! Just as this boy is!”

“Ignorant fool,” Daphnes scoffed, “You cannot really believe that the great goddesses would ever see fit to bless a Gerudo. Useless thieves. Your dark magic against the Kokiri is an act of war.”

“War?” Ganondorf dug in his heels, and the Hylian guards directing him could not match his strength. “You have banished us from your kingdom, and you attack us now! If there is to be war, we will  _ not  _ accept blame! I will not be condemned for crimes I did not commit! And I will not be judged for collecting artifacts that are rightfully mine!”

“Take him away!” Daphnes commanded again, and when the guards went to touch him, Ganondorf knocked them back with all his might. Even in their full armor, they fell like toy soldiers, and it seemed that Daphnes realized his mistake.

“Impa,” his tone was steely, “Take the children and flee.”

“I am Ganondorf Dragmire, High Priest of Din, King of the Desert, and I will not be subjugated by this nonsense! I am a GERUDO WARRIOR!” Ganondorf yelled, and his troop drew their weapons. Daphnes had underestimated him, and the holy magic that Ganondorf summoned hit him square in the chest.

 

Impa acted as the defacto leader until Zelda came of age, and Ganondorf had fled back to the safety of his home with the horrible news of the incoming war. Though the Hylian army was expected, their numbers were great, and their might was surprisingly powerful. The boy, who must have been a hero, somehow knew where to find things, things that had not been seen in years, weapons and magic that could level entire buildings.

 

It ended on the bleak battlefield that had once been his temple. Ganondorf stood, weak, defeated, bleeding, and hemorrhaging magic, alone. He had been chained to a wall, a short distance from the statue of Din he once knelt before to pray. It miraculously still stood, but his mothers, sisters, daughters, and lovers were dead, as far as he knew.

He was alone.

The ghostly images of the arbiters stood in a semi-circle around him, their blank, judgmental faces staring through him as he slumped, defeated, in his chains. Behind them, the circle of judgment spun, and before them, the sword of judgment hovered. Ganondorf could feel the powerful magic radiating from them, but he was not listening when the arbiters spoke.

“Ganondorf Dragmire of the Gerudo. You have been accused of treason, murder, war crime, and perhaps, most heinous of all,” the arbiter's voice felt unearthly, surreal, “crimes against the church. The goddesses flow through us, and will determine the truth of these accusations.”

The sword spun.

The sacred circle spun.

Ganondorf looked past them to the statue of the goddess.

_ Please, Din.  _ He prayed.  _ Why have you forsaken us? Why have you left us to die at the hands of these Hylians? What have we done to displease you? I wanted a better world, for us. I know that this is not what you wanted for us. I can still get to the sacred realm. I can find the triforce. I can undo all of this. Please, please, if you ever loved me, if you ever cared about us, please give me a sign. My faith is strong, but my body is weak. _

__ The sword stopped spinning.

It was pointed at him.

_ Please! Give me strength! Give me power! _

__ Ganondorf shrieked in pain as the sword cut right through his armor and into his chest. He felt the magic alongside the physical pain,and writhed in his bonds, but the arbiters stood by, watching. The sword would make its decision, would carry out the will of the goddesses, and Ganondorf would die.

The pain was indescribable.

His prayers were even more frantic, but the arbiters and the statue looked on, impartial.

The magic was trying to tear his body apart, and his thoughts narrowed to the immediate threat. The simple, understandable desire to  _ get the sword out of his chest _ .  _ Please, please please get the sword out of my chest. I am going to die. I am the last of us and I am going to die. _

__ His right hand began to burn.

It should not have been possible. His magic had been neutralized. He should not feel it flowing through him, should not feel it so strongly, more strongly than he had ever felt it. He could not see the symbol that formed, and therefore could not question it. The legends had said that even the chosen one must enter the sacred realm and touch the triforce, the relic of the goddesses, to awaken their power.

The legends were wrong.

It was then that the arbiters realized that they had tried to kill a holy man on holy ground. It was in that moment that they realized they had tried to execute the avatar of a goddess in front of her. It was then that they truly began to fear the wrath of Din.

Ganondorf did not feel that he had control of his own body. His mind kept frantically screaming at him to get the sword out, to survive, just survive, just  _ live _ . As long as he had his life, he could move forward, he could fix this. He could get to the sacred realm, find the triforce, and fix everything.

He felt the magic flowing through him. His entire arm was on fire now, but he could not scream. The absurdity of the situation, the fact of his own mortality was staring him in the face- and the madness overtook him. His laughter filled the empty desert sky that had once been a temple, and the chain around his right wrist  _ shattered. _

__ The hand hurt, and the pain seemed to radiate not just through his body, but into the very air, the very world around him. He was a mage, and he recognized it as some sort of magic, a magic he had never felt, but still, a raw power that could be tamed and directed, though he knew that trying may tear his body apart. It was too much, too extreme, and he couldn't control it, couldn't think- and was blinded by the light radiating off of him.

_ Thank Din, almighty. _

__ This is what it felt like. This was the raw power of a god.

The second chain snapped, and he lunged forward. His hand closed around the first thing in his path, one of the arbiters, and he  _ felt  _ it. It wasn't real, didn't exist on the physical plane, yet still he felt it, a life force in the palm of his outstretched hand. So he squeezed.

And it  _ died _ .

The power that flowed through him was too much. It could not be contained. He was the alpha and the omega, creator and destroyer of worlds. He saw the future, the present, the past, he saw all things, he experienced all things: a lifetime and a second, and a third, many worlds, many souls, a constant ticking and the sound of his own mad laughter. A wild boar. He was one with the universe. He was everything. He was nothing. He had to get the sword out of his chest.

He pulled it out, and there was no blood. There was no wound, just a smooth splattering of raw, glowing magic. He turned to face the rest of the arbiters, and they looked into the eyes of a god among mortals, and he felt their fear.

They had desecrated sacred ground, and now they would die.

The choice had been made.

The arbiters did not like the result. They feared the vengeance of the god they had angered. But they had planned for this outcome, though they did not expect it, and in their fear they activated the circle.

Ganondorf had never seen a gate of time before, but he now knew them well. He did not know what to expect when it activated and he felt himself caught in its grasp. The pull of it's magic was old, powerful, but not enough to entrap a god. He fought, at first, but his physical body could not contain this magic, this infinite power, and would not obey him. The sword went first, and it shocked him so badly that he stilled- and disappeared.

The goddesses had made their choice, and in their fear, the arbiters had defied them. They had tried to hide this act by banishing the proof to the Twilight Realm, but he survived. He had his life. He had more life than he knew what to do with, and with his newfound immortality, he learned another skill: patience.

 

The king ran a hand down his own chest. Under his robes, the scar remained, though it was not as gaping or as wound-like as it once was, it remained, and sometimes glowed with the magic he struggled to contain.

_ Arbiter's Grounds. _

__ _ Desert Temple. _

__ _ Temple of Din. _

__ _ Sand Goddess. _

__ **_Din._ **

 

**** **_Power._ **

 

He was the Chosen One, with the soul of a god, and the favor of a goddess. He was a god among mortals. He was a Gerudo Warrior.

He was alone.

Even in this room, surrounded by guards, he was alone. He gently touched the place on the map labeled “Arbiter's Grounds”, and the back of his hand lit up with a soft glow.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constant interruptions force Link to face reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank my great betaer, Saint! Who has made me a better writer!
> 
> If you want to throw a couple bucks my way, you can do that here: https://ko-fi.com/takocos
> 
> So I'm trying to write a real book, with original characters and whatnot. If anyone would be interested in reading that and giving me feedback, I would REALLY appreciate it, because I need it very badly. It's a fantasy thing, so if you like this fanfic, you'll probably like it too.

Link only had the fuzziest of memories about how he landed himself in his current position. He was hyped up on stamina potions, and the world seemed to move too slowly, painfully slowly, and it generated anger that he channeled through his arms to his fingertips, where he tried to dig into Ghirahim's shoulders, but his body was not flesh and blood, was not pliable, and his hands on his hips were so much stronger than they had a right to be, holding him, forcing him to move at a snail's pace. So he changed tactics, laced the fingers of one hand through Ghirahim's hair, and pulled with all his strength.

Ghirahim moaned under him, and his fingers dug in hard enough to bruise. When he opened his eyes, they were, thankfully, still playful.

“What did I tell you about  _ pushing _ me, Skychild?” he asked, and the hint of anger behind the amusement in his voice was not lost on Link, but he glared back and rolled his hips down with all his might, trying to get his point across.

“For the last time, I will not let you hurt yourself!” Ghirahim snapped, but Link pulled his hair again, steadied himself with the arm still on Ghirahim's shoulders, firmly planted his feet and bucked down.

Ghirahim gritted his teeth and tried to steady his resolve, but his grip loosened.

“Fine, you brat, maybe if you rip yourself open you'll learn a-” the sentence gave way to a loud gasp, as Link, finally able to act of his own volition, dug both hands into his shoulders again and bucked down, burying Ghirahim inside him to the hilt, until he was sitting in his lap, dreamy-eyed and smirking.

He let one hand drift to Ghirahim's chest and wrote.

I-T-o-l-d-Y-o-u.

Ghirahim pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, and Link wished he didn't appreciate it.

“You're impatient, Skychild. It is not a quality to take pride in,” Ghirahim chuckled against his hair.

In response, Link shoved his chest, which Ghirahim mistook as playful teasing, until he did it again, trying to throw his muscle into it, trying to push him down, and Ghirahim let him lead. He let Link shove him down until he was lying on his back, and slid his hands from Link's waist to his thighs. Link braced his weight on his right hand, splayed across Ghirahim's chest, and wrote with his left.

I-L-i-k-e-L-o-o-k-i-n-g-D-o-w-n-A-t-Y-o-u.

“Oh,” Ghirahim's eyes widened, “Yes, I suppose you've never done that before.”

Link smacked his chest again, and stuck out his tongue. Then he extended his left hand and made a grabbing motion toward the nightstand, and when Ghirahim moved to retrieve the journal, Link rolled his hips to keep his position. Once Ghirahim handed it to him, he laid it out on his chest and wrote.

_ Don't touch me. You keep acting like this is a test, so just lie back and let me ace it. Just like riding a horse, right? _

__ “What do you do with horses, Skychild?” Ghirahim asked, as his mind called up the short, horrible ride he had gone on to castle town- then immediately banished all thought as Link began to ride. What he lacked in experience he seemed determined to make up for in enthusiasm, confidence, and raw strength. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of Ghirahim and rocked towards him, then back on his knees, propelling himself with his whole body. His pace was hard, fast, and forceful, and Ghirahim obeyed his request, for a time, as he watched him wear himself out. But he had learned, whether only moments ago or from someone else, how to pleasure  _ himself _ , and it was obvious that that was where his focus was directed. Ghirahim watched him, felt him twitch around and over him, heard the gasps and pants that came out around clenched teeth, and let it continue until he noticed the signs that the tension Link had been building was about to spill over.

“Stop,” he ordered, and when Link did not obey he grabbed him by the hips and held him through his whines.

“Stop,” he said more forcefully, and Link's eyes shot open with a look of absolute betrayal.

“Don't look at me like that. This isn't a  _ test _ , Skychild. Not everything is an obstacle to overcome. Here, move with me.” He sat up, pulling Link with him, and directed his arms back to his shoulders.

When Link whimpered and rolled his hips, he smiled and advised, “Patience”, as he maneuvered his legs until he was no longer on his knees, but squatting on his feet with his legs spread. He instantly moaned as the new position allowed him to sink deeper, and rolled his hips forward to grind his leaking dick against Ghirahim's stomach.

“I'm teaching you, remember? You don't need to impress me. I told you that sex is like a dance, so just work  _ with  _ me. Move  _ with  _ me. Let me direct you.”

Link opened his eyes and looked up at him, then averted his gaze with a huff and wrote again on his chest.

Y-o-u-r-e-T-o-o-S-l-o-w

“It isn't a race,” Ghirahim explained and kissed the top of his head, “Just relax. This is better, isn't it?” He hummed in joy as he moved Link, not up but just back and forward, dragging him by the smallest possible increments, “Stay right there for a second, close your eyes and  _ feel _ . You make a  _ wonderful  _ sheath, Skychild, so  _ mortal _ . So warm and  _ alive _ . I can feel the blood moving through your veins, I can feel your heartbeat. I can feel the magic that feeds your soul. I can feel darkness seeping into it. I know you feel  _ that _ . I know you like it. It's  _ wonderful,  _ isn't it?”

Link nodded, shook his head, and looked up at Ghirahim with pleading eyes, then slowly slid them to the glowing mark on the back of his hand. He had expected it to dim, but it shone as brightly as ever. Ghirahim followed his eyes, took his hand, and studied the back. After a beat, his tongue slid from his mouth, and ran carefully over the edges of the symbol. He sighed in absolute ecstasy, and Link watched darkness crawl up his arms and crackle into his torso.

“This is strong, holy magic, Skychild,” he said at length, “It feels  _ so good _ , like Master Ganondorf. I can't  _ wait  _ to see you together, to  _ feel  _ it. Move with me, open yourself, open your soul and let this magic flow into me.”

Link nodded, and let Ghirahim arrange their positions again, his hands on Link's hips, Link's hands on his shoulders, and Link let him guide. The pace was slow, but the angle was better, and he could feel every smooth inch of what he thought must be metal sliding in and out, pulsating with a dark, demonic magic, and as it took hold, his head began to swim.

He didn't know how long it had gone on before Ghirahim told him to lie back and guided him down. He was more comfortable than he could ever remember being, which made no sense at all because he had to be folded in half, because he knew that the things on either side of his head were his own knees, but he was  _ full _ , so amazingly full, and floating somewhere slightly above and to the left of his body, still miraculously connected and able to feel everything. Everything was a pleasant buzzing and pressure, and he hadn't realized that the thing he was gripping was the footboard until he felt the wood splinter and snap.

“Damn this flimsy Hylian furniture!” Ghirahim snarled above him, and Link felt one hand release his thigh and run softly over his palm.

He grabbed it by the wrist and guided it to his throat.

“Do not tempt me, brat,” Ghirahim snapped, and his voice was so full of emotion that Link shuddered under him.

Ghirahim had perhaps lost faith in him, because his pace slowed, and he reached out to pin both of Link's hands above his head. He held them there in one of his own, and ran the other gently down Link's face, watching him closely, admiring the way Link closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“Demon Lord,” A booming voice asked, “Where do you want this?”

Ghirahim jerked his head up to see Volga standing with a chest under each arm, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else.

“What is that?” Ghirahim asked, without breaking his pace or appearing bothered in the slightest. Link, however, felt a bit of the fog in his brain clear enough to know that he absolutely did NOT want to be seen, and began to squirm. Ghirahim seemed to believe he was doing that for his benefit, and gasped, before apologizing, “I'm sorry, Skychild, but I need to multitask. You will regain my full attention in a moment.”

“Is that the legendary hero?” Volga asked.

“What's in the chest?” Ghirahim asked, as if he had not heard the question.

“King Dragmire's personal affects from the Gerudo fortress,” he answered.

Link tried to sink into the mattress.

“Have you said anything to my master about what happened at the fortress?” Ghirahim asked as Link fought his grip.

Volga's normal cocky demeanor seemed to flee at the question, and he sat the chests on the floor by the one already nestled at the foot of the bed. After a long pause he spoke in a voice much more quiet than usual.

“I suppose you can teleport them wherever you want them at your leisure.”

“No one has yet told him of your failure,” Ghirahim assured him, and Volga was instantly confused.

“Why? Why would you not pounce the second you had something to use against me?” he asked, and Link tilted his head back to take in the literal dragon standing less than a foot from his  _ incredibly vulnerable  _ position.

“I have no more desire to fuel his rage than you do,” Ghirahim nodded down, “hold this for me. I want to show you something.”

“Hold... you aren't holding anything.” Volga stared at Link in confusion or aversion, but it was obvious that Ghirahim was motioning to his wrists. Link shook his head frantically and stared at Ghirahim with wide, pleading eyes.

“Stop resisting,” Ghirahim warned and narrowed his eyes at him, “You aren't exactly in a position to make demands.”

Link glared, and tried to pull away, but the seemingly boundless strength of the demon held him, so he settled for wrapping his legs around Ghirahim's hips and crossing his ankles in the small of his back, in an attempt to trap him. He snarled, and Ghirahim laughed. Link would not forget this embarrassment, this humiliation at the hands of someone he- and he cursed himself for admitting it- was beginning to  _ trust.  _ Ghirahim shushed him, and Volga scoffed.

“I don't need to be a part of your sick games.”

“It isn't a game, I'm trying to make a point,” Ghirahim explained, and his patience seemed to be thinning, “My master could easily rip you apart, tear your very soul to shreds.”

Link screamed as Ghirahim snapped forward into him and used his free hand to jerk Volga closer by the throat.

“You have made a very stupid mistake,” Ghirahim hissed, “And I am tired of your hubris. I don't  _ mind  _ arrogance if it is warranted. But I will not tolerate such  _ abysmal  _ failure in my subordinates. If it had just been a raid on the armory, I may have found forgiveness, but to let Fi escape? To let Fi escape with that little rat Vaati? The only reason I do not strike you down where you stand is because I think my master may prefer to do it himself. Do you know how powerful he is? Do you know how  _ badly  _ you have fucked up?”

Volga's expression was unreadable, but the temperature in the room was rising.

“Do you feel the raw magic radiating off my new little slave?” Ghirahim asked. “That is what I wanted you to feel. This is the power of the triforce in an untrained mage, in one who can barely strum a spell together through an enchanted weapon. This is  _ nothing  _ compared to the great Demon King, and yet I would be willing to bet that even he would tear you apart. Wouldn't you, Skychild?”

Link did not want to be part of the conversation, and didn't particularly want people to be looking at him in his compromised position. He tried to convey that by rolling his eyes and turning his head to the side. He wished he had been under the blanket rather than lying on top of it. Or literally anywhere else in the world than where he currently was.

“What are you going to do, Ghirahim?” Volga asked with the air of one who was resigned to an unknown fate.

“Believe it or not, I have no desire to see you come to harm,” Ghirahim released the hold on his armor and Link's wrists, and grabbed the hero by the hips to hold him steady. Link immediately tried to sit up and pull away, but the grip on his hips proved too tight, so he propped himself up on his elbows and glared at Ghirahim.

“Oh what is wrong with you now?” Ghirahim was beyond annoyed, but Link nodded toward Volga.

“Selfish,” Ghirahim chided, “But we're almost finished.”

Link felt the rage welling within him. The mood was completely ruined, his wrists made strange popping sounds when he moved, his abdominal muscles were beyond sore, and his hips had dark bruises under Ghirahim's fingers. The guilt that he had bottled up in order to achieve physical pleasure was welling to the surface and threatening to break.

“If he doesn't leave now,” Link whispered, “I will kill him with his own spear.”

“Don't be so dramatic, Skychild,” Ghirahim reached out to pat his face, and Link batted him away, so he glared at the dragon who was ruining his fun, and all the progress he had made. “A few more minutes, and then I promise you will have my full attention, darling.”

Link hissed at him like an angry cat, and Ghirahim recoiled enough for him to pull away completely. Link bunched up the blanket and crawled under it, and eventually emerged near the headboard, where he glared daggers through the dragon, the first person to attack Hyrule, the one who drew him into the life that eventually led to this moment.

“Oh perfect,” Ghirahim snapped, and whipped his head back to Volga. “I have not yet spoken to the great Demon King, and I had intended to postpone it until he is in better spirits. But my advice to you is that you should not be here when he finds out. Flee back to the mountains and await further orders. It's what you wanted anyway. But know that I will not forget this failure.”

“Lord Ghirahim,” Volga bowed his head, “It is difficult for me to admit defeat. I don't know what happened. King Dragmire has made many promises to the dragons, and I cannot allow my failure to take those things away. I will retrieve the stolen artifacts, as soon as someone tells me how I would go about doing that.”

“You should not be in this castle when he hears of your failure.” Ghirahim warned him, “But if you want to reclaim your honor, you may accompany me on our retrieval quest, IF the Demon King allows it. Now, get out of my bedchamber before the fallen hero kills you with your own weapon.”

“I cannot believe you allowed him to live.” Volga shot a look of disgust at Link, who had burritoed himself in the blanket in lieu of clothing, and was giving him a murderous stare, so different from the frightened prisoner he had seen back at the fortress, when Ganondorf had placed the magical amulet that kept him in his power on his head. He looked much more like the young man who had faced him on the battlefield, and much less like a prisoner. His eyes shot back to Ghirahim, and he wondered exactly what Link's status was in their power structure.

“My master has his reasons.” Ghirahim smiled, “And I do not question him.”

“I bet you don't.” Volga bowed, then stood and unnecessarily added, “I will take my leave.” Before turning and walking out of the room in long strides.

Ghirahim slammed the door with a wave of his hand, and turned back to Link, who looked ready to slap him. Link wriggled until he was able to grab his journal, and wrote so fiercely the pen left an indention on the next page.

_ I can't fucking believe you did that. No, you know what, I totally can, I don't even know why I wrote that. I don't know why I thought you WOULDN'T humiliate me in front of your fucking lackeys. Fuck this shit. I don't care how good it feels, I'm not cooperating anymore. You people will have to either kill me or drag me kicking and screaming every step of the way through whatever hell you have planned for me. You can go fuck yourself, and so can your goddamn Master. I'm going to break this spell and I am going to shatter your FUCKING SOUL YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHOLE. _

__ “Skychild, stop writing,” Ghirahim commanded, but Link disobeyed and he tried again, “Skychild, listen to me.” Link didn't look up, and when Ghirahim reached out to touch his face, he pulled away.

“Link,” Ghirahim tried, and Link's eyes, icy and full of hate, shot up and met his. Link was confused by the emotion he saw there; no malice, no snide victory; no enjoyment- just confusion. “What are you talking about? What humiliation?”

Link stared at him, eyes narrowed in concentration, as he studied Ghirahim for any trace of a lie. But he found none. Ghirahim really didn't seem to understand why he was upset.

_ When someone walks in on you- actually you know what, first of all the goddamn door should have been locked- but second of all, when someone walks in on you, you FUCKING STOP. _

__ Ghirahim read it three times and his eyebrows still met in his forehead when he finally asked, “Why?”

_ BECAUSE WE WERE HAVING SEX. _

__ “And you... don't want people to know that? Your entire attitude is so strange to me, Skychild. I don't understand this entire Hylian aversion to pleasures of the flesh. Why is this so upsetting to you?” Ghirahim asked, not unkindly, but with impatience. When Link just underlined the phrase he had already written, Ghirahim sighed.

“I don't know what you wanted me to do, apart from order him away, which I did when I discovered it upset you. Dragons and demons do not share your Hylian sensibilities, Skychild. You can trust me when I tell you that this, seeing you like this, did nothing to lessen his fear. He will only feel truly safe if you... well... I don't like to think about your death as much as I used to.”

_ I don't believe you _ . Link scribbled with shaking hands as he tried to contain the rage that had no outlet. The darkness that had been seeping through Ghirahim faded little by little, and eventually disappeared entirely as he leaned forward and gently laid the palm of his hand across Link's face.

“Skychild, I cannot be bothered by what you do and do not believe, because your beliefs are structured around lies and half-truths. You still seem to believe that the queen loves you, that she is somehow gathering the strength it would take to steal you away from us. But the truth is... had I known that was what was upsetting you, I would have sent him away instantly. You belong to my master now. And that means that you belong to me. And I will  _ not  _ allow anyone to harm you. Do you understand?”

Link looked up from the journal, into Ghirahim's eyes, then back down to write.

_ Do you really believe we were fated to be together? _

__ “From the bottom of my dark heart, Skychild, I have wanted you since I saw you. And I must believe... certain things... maintain certain illusions, for my sanity. I must believe that old souls and past lives mean something. I must believe that the Demon King, even in a mortal body, loves me like a creature he knows was made for him, even if he cannot remember it, for example. And I... wish with all my heart that you hadn't killed him. He was everything to me, Skychild.”

He pressed their foreheads together, and Link hadn't been expecting it, and fell back against the headboard.

“I don't think I will ever stop hating you for that. I don't know if I can ever forgive you. I don't know if Zant can forgive you for his kingdom, freedom and people. I don't know if Volga can forgive you for his grandfather or his temple. But I do know that my master has forgiven you for his life, his mortality, his family, his lovers, his  _ children _ . You took everything from him... and he doesn't blame you. So I wonder... as a servant myself, if I can  _ really  _ blame you for the things you did under the control of Hylia... we're just... puppets on strings, aren't we, Skychild?” He laughed, not a laugh of mirth, but the laugh of one whose mirth has been drained by loss, “Two lost souls who have been confined to shelves too long, who have nothing left?”

Link slowly felt his arms wrap around Ghirahim, who rested his head on Link's shoulders.

“Why did you believe her?”

Link sighed, and ran his hand down Ghirahim's back, intending to write, as he had so many times before, “ _ I am not Skychild.” _ But he paused, and instead wrote in slow but firm letters:

I-D-o-n-t-R-e-m-e-m-b-e-r.

“Sometimes,” Ghirahim spoke as if he were admitting a great personal failing, “I envy that. I wonder what it would be like, to be able to forget the great tragedies of my past.”

Link had no response to that, and had so many emotions stirring inside of him that they were engaged in a fierce battle, and none were able to gain superiority and rise to the surface, leaving him with a paradoxical numbness that robbed him of thought. His arms moved as if on autopilot, some sort of deep seated hero's instinct that compelled him to protect, and slid up and down Ghirahim's back. Eventually Ghirahim sat up, and Link realized he had been crying because his carefully crafted eyeliner was running down his face. He dabbed it away and looked at the stain on his fingertips with disgust.

“At any rate,” he sighed, and turned back to look at Link, “The mood is broken, isn't it?”

Link wasn't looking at him; he was too busy writing.

_ Don't be jealous. A lot of people hate me and I don't know why. Impa chose me not for my skill or training or ability, but because Queen Zelda claimed to see something in me. I had responsibility thrust upon me based on something I couldn't control. I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't even ask to be in the army in the first place. After my parents were killed by marauders it was work or starve. I guess I didn't want to be a cuccu farmer my whole life. I thought I was good at being a soldier. But I wasn't really fighting for anything until you guys attacked, and even then I thought I was fighting to protect, but... Ganondorf seems... like he's actually trying to run things. I thought he would just mercilessly slaughter everyone like he did on the battlefield. _

__ “Those were trained soldiers, Skychild,” Ghirahim pushed himself off the bed, and with a snap of his fingers everything about him was gorgeous again; his clothes were back and perfectly smoothed as if they had been ironed, his hair was flat and fell in a clean line, and his make-up completely unsmudged and flawless.

Link had moved to write something else, but his ears twitched at the noises in the hallway even before the knock at the door.

“Lord Ghirahim?” Came the voice of the artist, and Link made sure the blanket he had wrapped himself in covered most of his body when Ghirahim looked to him for confirmation, then nodded his approval.

“Come in,” Ghirahim said with weariness lacing his voice.

Yuga was accompanied by Zant as they both moved quietly inside the room, and locked the door behind them.

“Are we interrupting anything?” Yuga asked with genuine concern.

“Any time you want something from me,” Ghirahim explained as he walked to the vanity and picked up Link's clothes, “It would be safe to assume that you're interrupting something important.”

“Are these the chests from the fortress?” Zant asked with panic creeping into his voice.

“Yes.” Ghirahim was trying not to snap, but his words were sharp and painful. He tossed the bundle into Link's lap and stood with a hand on his hip, trying to convey through body language exactly how busy he was and how much of a burden they were being. “What is it? I'm needed on the training grounds.”

“We were thinking that perhaps we should go ahead and venture into Lorule,” Zant explained, “Every moment we waste gives Vaati more opportunity to-”

“No,” Ghirahim barked, but Zant continued.

“He's a more powerful mage than we imagined. We underestimated him once, and the boy he's controlling is a trained knight. We have reason to believe-”

“Zant,” Ghirahim crossed the bed and marched into his personal space, “I have been a general for several thousand years. I captured the legendary hero. I am in no mood to have my orders questioned. I'm already so close to destroying Volga for his failure. Please _ friend _ , do not push me.”

“With all due respect,” Zant fidgeted, and Ghirahim's eyebrows shot to his forehead, “And I do respect you. SO MUCH! I think you're an amazing warrior! You've done things I've only ever read about. You're amazing!” He took a deep breath and continued, “But you're a warrior, not a... strategist. The reason that you were defeated the first time is because you tried to do everything yourself. You didn't make good use of your subordinates, underlings, or... friends? We can split up. Yuga and I can venture into Lorule and try to defeat Vaati while you stay here and break the news to Master Ganondorf.”

“You will  _ not _ go to Lorule alone!” Ghirahim spoke softly, but with force, “You are especially susceptible to the magics of the demon realm, which, I suppose I must remind you, is where Lorule lies. The Dark World is the domain of demons- humans who are not born there are warped, changed into unrecognizable forms. It isn't safe. If it were up to me, you wouldn't go at all. Its magics infect and alter those who cannot combat them.”

“He's right,” Yuga admitted, “It is said that the land changes people to reflect their hearts. There are legends of people from the Light Realm who were changed into beasts or demons.”

“They said the same thing of the Twilight Realm,” Zant protested, “Yet I withstood that; I even thrived in it!”

“That was the very reason you longed for escape!” Ghirahim reminded him, “To find a better life for yourself and your people. And yet you would go back to something that is almost exactly the same? Have you lost your mind?”

“On a holy, sacred quest for my god?” Zant seemed insulted, “Of course. I would walk through fire. He gave me the power to take the throne and defeat the Hylians, Ghirahim. He gave me everything I asked for. He brought us into the light, and if I need to walk through darkness to defend him from the only weapon that can strike him down, I would do it gladly. You aren't the only one who loves him. He saved us all.”

Ghirahim sighed, closed his eyes to think, and opened them to speak.

“It may not come to that. There is no reason to put anyone in danger if we can avoid it. And even if you managed to defeat Vaati, you know that neither of you would be able to claim the master sword. Fi would reject you, would hurt you- she may kill you. She is the Blade of Evil's bane, a murderess who thrives on slaughter. She would think nothing of ending your life. She's been strengthened by the fires of the goddesses, forged of master ore, and has an extremely powerful soul. She was wielded by Hilda herself in the great battle, the first time I lost Demise. I will lose no one else to her wrath. Do you understand? Vaati is not our true enemy here, Fi is.”

“That evil blade is forged of master ore?” Yuga asked and Ghirahim turned his attention to him.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Many of our sacred temples protect a substance called master ore,” he explained, “The legends say that it was connected to the triforce, to the goddesses. We aren't supposed to touch it, so it's been locked away. The Lorulian royal family is desperately afraid of what happens when evil people wield sacred objects. It's the reason we shattered the triforce.”

“I still don't understand how you shattered a triforce,” Zant admitted.

“Nor do I,” Yuga admitted, “It happened centuries before my birth. Believe me, you do not understand how badly I wish it had not been destroyed. I swear, sometimes I can feel it flowing through me, still.” His eyes fell to the back of his hand, to the discolored skin in a familiar pattern.

“She will want that for herself, to reforge her blade and become even stronger,” Ghirahim gritted his teeth, “We may be on equal footing now, but I know that her defeat weighs heavily on her mind. She won't want to lose to me twice. Even more reason that you should not go alone. You cannot underestimate her. How difficult would it be for her to manipulate that boy- what was his name?”

“Ravio does not have a strong emotional constitution. He is easily manipulated by rupees. Any will stronger than his own will have an easy time if they promise him riches,” Yuga sighed. “Ghirahim, we cannot waste time. We need to prevent her from gaining this strength.”

“We will leave tonight, though I know not of whom the traveling party will consist. I don't want to bring any foot soldiers, as I believe they would be marching to their doom. She is so powerful, my friends, powerful enough to destroy a god. When I was trying to resurrect my master, I watched her slice through thousands of my soldiers with no regard, not even a thought to their mortal lives. I watched her control and corrupt one innocent life, transform a schoolboy into a genocidal murderer, and I do not want to see it again. History repeats. We should have shattered her when we had the chance.”

“There is one life, no other,” Zant said as if it were a comfort, “It does us no good to dwell on alternate realities. The fact of the matter is that we did  _ not _ shatter her, she  _ did  _ escape, and now we have to deal with it. I am willing to sacrifice Ravio to the cause.”

“I would rather not, if we didn't have to,” Yuga fiddled with his robe, “He's a fool and a coward, but he isn't a bad person at heart. If he can be saved-”

“If he can be salvaged, we will try,” Ghirahim assured him, “But we will spare no tears to the thief who has tried to bring doom to our master. I want you to understand that. If this boy is weak willed enough for Vaati to control, Fi will destroy him. He will no longer be the boy you knew. She changes people, makes them believe unbelievable things. I don't even think she's  _ capable  _ of empathy. Or... any emotion, really. Speak to her for five minutes and you'll see what I mean. She wants nothing but battle. She was created for a singular reason, to kill Demise, not as I was, to provide companionship and support. She has no master, but many slaves.”

“Fine, we will await your command,” Zant nervously twiddled his fingers together, “We leave tonight? Perhaps... unless Master Ganondorf calls for me I should take a sleeping potion. We should travel through the night. We should be prepared.”

“I will do that as well,” Yuga agreed. “Thought I foresee a cavalcade of nightmarish visions, time will past much more quickly than if I tried to stay awake and worried myself to sickness.”

“Yes,” Ghirahim agreed, “You mortals- all of you, Skychild,” he nodded to Link, “Rest and prepare your physical forms for what will surely be a battle. I must attempt to train these Hylian excuses for soldiers. And speak of this no more until I summon you tonight for our quest. I know that you're all upset, but my master is not a stupid man, and he will know that something is amiss if we continue to behave in ways that arouse suspicion.”

“Right! We need to act natural!” Zant agreed, “Nothing more natural than an afternoon nap. I'll be in my chambers!”

“I do hope that Ravio will be alright,” Yuga admitted with great reluctance, “He's just so... so very stupid.”

“Take your leave and get your rest,” Ghirahim walked them to the door and shut it, before he turned back to Link. He snapped his fingers and in an instant was at his bedside. He leaned down and cupped his face in both hands, and kissed him deeply, with great longing, one last time.

“Do try to sleep, Skychild,” he advised, “I assure you it will be a long night.”

Link nodded, and watched Ghirahim disappear in a shower of diamonds.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You people who are here for the GanLink tag FINALLY get something. I know it feels like I've been stringing you along, but I wanted it to be an actual emotional thing so that Link will have changed enough to LISTEN when Gan talks instead of looking at him like: https://kathrynplays.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/wind-waker-ganondorf-speech-2.png
> 
> Also, the most dangerous creature in all of Hyrule, Lorule, or any other realm makes their appearance.  
> http://i.imgur.com/COyOeXd.png

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as always, I want to thank my wonderful Beat Reader, Saint, who makes this shit readable!
> 
> Additionally, I drew a picture of Ghirahim, recorded myself drawing it, sped it up 15x, set it to shitty free music, and uploaded it to youtube, if anyone wants to watch that: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ayOvz1R7bE#action=share
> 
> Also, I'm trying to write a real book, and I need feedback really badly because I would like for it to be publishable. If anyone is interesting in reading and providing feedback, please let me know, because I really need it. It's fantasy- specifically it deals with the actual repercussions that people who are fantasy tropes would have to live with, and the focus is on a character with crippling ptsd and alcoholism. If you like my fanfics you'll probably like it.
> 
> And finally, I'm a starving artist, so if anyone wants to throw a couple bucks my way, here's the tip jar: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

Link did not sleep.

He waited until the room grew silent, and he was absolutely sure that Ghirahim was truly gone, then picked up his clothes and walked quickly into the king's dressing room. It had been stocked, but he was uninterested in the wardrobes or chests, and instead made his way to the washbasin. He scrubbed his face and body as best he could, and dressed before the three way mirror that reminded him of the one in the tailor's shop. He was back in the bedroom and turning the knob of the door to enter the hall before he remembered his face. He double checked to make sure that everything was secure in his bag- that journal really had been a godsend- before he took a seat.

His face was red from the scrubbing, so as he mixed he tried instead to match the color of his inner arm. He was amazed how much he remembered from what he had seen Ghirahim do, given the state of panic and annoyance he had been in at the time, and was proud of what he managed to accomplish, though it took him far longer than the 'few seconds' Ghirahim had said it should.

The demon was right. Cia had been right.

He was vain.

But it bothered him less than it probably should. It was too easy, as a champion, as the chosen child of Farore, as the avatar of a god, to form a high opinion of oneself. He was torn. Part of him wanted to raid the armory and slaughter  _ something _ . Ganondorf's spell compelled him to protect him, and he had been ordered not to stab Ghirahim. But an arrow to that bright, giant diamond on his hip might knock him down a peg and teach him an important lesson about how he treated people.

But the more logical part of his mind reminded him that he couldn't lose the position he had gained in these people's good graces. Because they were going to lead him straight back to the Master Sword, and together, she and he would be able to accomplish... something.

The goal wasn't as clear as it had once been.

He had to save the queen, right? Protect her. He was her champion, her warrior, with the soul of the man she had once loved.

But no more.

Because if Ghirahim were telling the truth, that would be gross.

He stood and took the few steps that put him in front of the chests Volga had delivered. They were locked tight, and he sighed. He didn't even know what he expected to find, but in his experience, locked chests always held something important. It was probable that Volga held the key, since he had packed them, and they were both huge- he would have to bend at the waist and dangle inside to reach the bottom, and the personal property of the king, so whatever he kept in there was something valuable.

Link decided that he would go to the armory, but he would not attack anyone. He would just feel better if he had something, even just a common sword; hell he would take a dagger at this point- just something that would allow him to defend himself if he needed it. There had been so many times that he needed a weapon, yet had none.

He was more acquainted with the servant's ways around the castle, hidden doors behind curtains, staircases in corners, all places to keep people who were not meant to be seen- and all crowded with monsters. Lizalfos, boblins, moblins, all stood around as if they had a right to be there- there were Hylian servants as well, but none of them would meet his eye, none would help him. Link was confused. He had been their champion, once. He had risked everything, and now they treated him the same way the monsters who shrank back to the sides of walls did, giving him a wide breadth as the cape fluttered behind him, as if they were afraid to touch him.

Link was not used to regalia. He had been a peasant farmer, then a soldier. He was only ever important because he wore an ancient artifact and carried a sword that most people could not touch, only ever regarded as a commander because the queen said so. Not because of his age or experience. Link's simple past robbed him of the ability to see himself as he was, wearing the symbol of the new king, the clothes of a nobleman- Link could not see how much the jewel on his forehead, the thing that enchanted him, imprisoned him- looked like a crown. It was almost identical to the tiara the king himself wore. And the servants respected it.

They respected it enough to let him into the armory without question. Two lizalfos guards had been stationed by the door, and they straightened their backs and looked down at him as if they expected him to be impressed. He was confused. Dragons in Hyrule Castle, looking down at him with respect- not attacking him on sight.

Play along.

Shadow was right.

The armory, like everything else, had changed, but he was able to find a few normal Hylian weapons, but in his new outfit he could not clip them to his back, so settled on a sword without a shield, just enough to make himself feel comfortable, and strapped it on his hip. It was amazing how easily he became accustomed to it. He was taller in his new boots, and it didn't drag the ground as it would have before.

Weaponizing himself had been the extent of his plan, and he didn't know what to do with himself to take up the time between now and whenever they would make the journey to Lorule- to what Yuga had called the “Dark World”. He thought briefly about joining Ghirahim on the training ground, but quickly decided that that would be a good way to get backhanded in the side of the head again, and the first bruise still pulsed when he tried to think.

Instead, he walked the castle slowly, taking in the changes, as if he were a guard on patrol. All the paintings of the royal house of Hyrule had been taken down, though all were not yet replaced. That would probably be Yuga's job and it would be ridiculous to expect him to work so quickly. But there were many cosmetic changes. Most of the furniture had been removed and was in the process of being replaced. The white and gold walls were in the process of being painted, and the carpets had been rolled up as the boblin crew dripped their paint all over the floor as if they didn't care about staining it, which made Link think that the floors would be given a new finish as well.

It spoke of Ganondorf, just as his horse did. He seemed to have a penchant for the color black, and for metal accessories. Almost all the wooden furniture was being replaced with metal, which, Link figured, would be more difficult to break. In particular, the new king seemed to be partial to gold, real gold, not the sand-colored or white-gold paint that the Hylians had put over stone, but the metal that was said to be a conduit, to channel magic and lightning, the thing the sage medallions were made from. Link missed his medallions and the spells tied to them.

He tried to stay hidden, like a servant, but the way the actual servants avoided him unnerved him, so after a single loop through the castle, he decided to squirrel himself away in the library until someone summoned him. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Ganondorf, bent over a table writing furiously. He had expected him to be in the throne room, actually, you know, presiding over the country, as Queen Zelda did. The sight shocked Link, and he froze when Ganondorf's head shot up, and those golden eyes burrowed into him.

Ganondorf made intense eye contact, as if searching his soul for something, and Link's left hand flew to the hilt of his sword. The emotion in the giant man's eyes confused him, because Link had been fooled, had believed him when he boasted on the battlefield that he had outlived more heroes than Link could comprehend. Link couldn't see the warriors in green, the line of them, in this very castle, in the desert, in sacred temples, in open fields, could not hear the crackling of the flames or the deafening rush of flowing water. Link didn't see the men- or worse, the little boys, actual children- the youngest couldn't be more than ten years old- how could one fight a child? Link did not look into the wide eyes of child, a child standing on your broad chest with both hands wrapped around a sacred sword that should have been too much for him to carry, let alone wield. Link did not feel the magic trickling from his soul as his broken brain and shattered skull told him that the triforce was so close, was  _ right there _ , and he had tried to explain himself, his pain, his true wish- but the hero was too young to understand, could not listen. Link did not know what it was like to outlive heroes.

So Link did not understand why those golden eyes of a giant man, with the soul of a god, a man who had leveled battlefields and sliced through swarms of Hylian soldiers, who summoned holy magic from the ether and commanded monsters and demons- flashed with fear.

Ganondorf contained it quickly, put his quill in the ink, folded his hands on the desk, and spoke calmly.

“You have a sword,” he observed.

Link nodded.

“But not the Blade of Evil's Bane.” He kept his voice calm, would not shake, would not allow himself to see this man as the thing from his nightmares. He was not the boy with the evil eyes, Ganondorf reminded himself, no more than he himself was Demise.

Link shook his head.

“You're welcome to anything in the castle, Link,” Ganondorf said, and motioned to a chair on the other side of the table, “Come here a minute. I want you to read this.”

Link followed the spell and sat on the other side of the table, and stared at Ganondorf's outstretched hand. He tried to take the paper without touching him, yet still their hands began to glow, without so much as a brush of their fingertips. It was so much like Zelda; the tingling moved down his left hand to his heart and settled there heavily. Every time it happened, Ganondorf stopped what he was doing and stared, and it dawned on Link that he had never felt it before. Triangles had three sides. He had Zelda- which left one. Ganondorf was alone.

The king rubbed the back of his own hand through his glove, and slowly the symbol faded.

“Read that,” He said again, and went back to writing.

Link let his eyes linger on Ganondorf, and the skill he had honed on the battlefield, the observational skills he needed to assess situations instantly, took in many things that left him with a lingering sadness. Ganondorf was too big for the table, and was obviously uncomfortable. He was writing on a tilted board, and kept rearranging it because it wasn't tall enough for him to access without bending in a way that had to hurt his back. Every movement he made was controlled and gentle, with great dexterity, and it seemed as if he feared any sudden movement would shatter something. Without his armor, Link realized that he had a heavy layer of fat over his muscle that he was trying to conceal with his mage robes, unsuccessfully. He was undoubtedly strong, but it was the strength of a warrior, a solid build, not muscles meant for show. The robes parted at the neck, and had slipped open a little, and Link could see the hint of a scar, a strange scar that seemed to pulsate with white light.

Ganondorf looked up.

“What do you think?” He asked, then followed Link's eyeline to his own chest. He looked down, then back up. “What? Did I spill food or something?” He made a disgusted sound, “By Din's glowing eyes I need to stop eating so goddamn much. I'm the fattest bitch in this troupe...” he made a face and smoothed his robes out, and spoke in a language that Link didn't understand. He tried to tighten the knot at his waist, but it did nothing to change the look on his face.

Link finally looked at the paper he had been handed. His eyebrows shot to his forehead as he took it in, and he slammed it on the table and shook his head so hard that the hair by his ears smacked him in the eyes.

“What don't you like?” Ganondorf asked, and scooted as close as he could to the table.

Link picked up a piece of blank paper, took one of the many quills strewn about the table, licked it, dipped it into Ganondorf's inkwell, and wrote.

_ You can't just kick people out of the military! They need the money! They send it home! People depend on that! And you can't just go around kidnapping people! You can't FORCE anyone to go to school, a lot of people need to work, to help their parents. If I couldn't send money and Linkle couldn't do the farm work, our grandma would be dead! _

__ _ “ _ It isn't kidnapping, boy,” Ganondorf explained patiently, “To force children to attend a few hours of school. I'm sick of everyone around me being so damn  _ stupid _ . You need to be educated.”

_ You can't expect everyone to walk to castle town! _

__ Ganondorf, however, had more to say about his first paragraph.

“So you do have a family.” He mused.

Link froze. He felt the blood stop in his veins. He dipped the pen and when he wrote his hands shook, and the ink came out blotchy and difficult to read.

_ Don't hurt them _ .

Ganondorf took a deep breath and held it in his expansive chest, then exhaled slowly. Time seemed to stand still as Link awaited his response.

“I don't know why you Hylians believe everyone to be as cruel as you are,” he snarled when he felt he could keep his temper under control. “If I were willing to hurt children, my life would have been...” he let out another long breath between his teeth, “Much easier. So much easier. One bolt of magic between the eyes.”

Link didn't know what he was talking about, and had no reply, so the silence dragged on between them, and Ganondorf felt his rage building.

“I don't care if you don't like it. I'm pushing you Hylian dogs into enlightenment if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. And no more children on the battlefield. I'm raising the enlistment age from ten to sixteen.” He looked up and caught Link's frown, and narrowed his eyes at him, “There were no children on any Gerudo military outposts. The idea is ridiculous. Children deserve childhoods.”

_ Where will they go?  _ Link wrote, remembering how much of a godsend the military had been when he lost his parents. It gave him a purpose, a place to stay, and rupees to send home.

“They'll go to school, boy,” Ganondorf sighed, “Pay attention.”

_ You don't make money in school. _ Link scribbled, and his rage was building as well, and he was having to physically restrain himself from snapping the quill or writing through the paper.

“It is not the responsibility of  _ children _ ,” Ganondorf snarled, “To care for themselves!”

_ Then you sentence them to death!  _ Link looked up at him, teeth clenched, then back to the paper, as he continued.  _ There are finite resources! You cannot take away someone's livelihood! You cannot FORCE someone to attend school- or to do ANYTHING! We will not be controlled! We will not bow to mandatory laws! _

__ “Calm down,” Ganondorf waved a hand at him, and went back to writing, “You're acting insane. It's better to have an educated populace than an uneducated one. Gerudo children didn't hold jobs, they were trained before-”

“WE'RE NOT GERUDO!” Link stood and slammed his hands on the table, and the inkwell Ganondorf had been using to write slipped from the top of his slope and ran all down the paper. Link watched the ink run and was reminded of the charcoal on his face.

Ganondorf picked up the inkwell, righted it on the desk, wiped his hands on a towel, and slowly stood. As Link watched him, rising higher and higher, he remembered that he didn't have any kind of weapon that could hurt him, and he was so small, in comparison. The top of his head would MAYBE reach the middle of Ganondorf's chest, in his new boots. And when he tried to draw his sword, his hand hovered in midair as it done when he tried to take the jewel from his forehead.

“Do you think,” Ganondorf asked him through narrowed eyes, “That I don't know that?”

Link shook his head and took a step back.

“No! You will stay here and listen to me!” Ganondorf barked, and Link's body moved back to the seat with no input from his brain.

“I know you're a Hylian, boy. I know your people, better than you do. I know your culture, your  _ horrible  _ culture, and I am trying to  _ fix  _ it. The problem with Hyrule is not Hylians- not individual people... It can't be. I refuse to believe it. You cannot, on an individual level be selfish, stupid, greedy bigots. No such people could have  _ destroyed...  _ everything, Link... you destroy  _ everything _ .”

He walked slowly around the desk as he spoke.

“Many of your people can't even read your own language. That's a disgrace. Many more can't understand their own history because they don't speak ancient Hylian. Can you?” He turned from the bookcase, where he had produced a book, to look at Link, who shook his head.

“You know so little... it is by design. The royal family keeps secrets- hidden knowledge, hidden spells, hidden fairy fountains, because if normal people knew those things, they would know that the house of Hyrule is not so wise as it claims. Most of that wisdom is just knowledge, things that anyone can learn. Things that  _ you  _ could learn.”

Link shook his head.

“Who is Linkle?” Ganondorf asked, and when Link didn't move or respond he ordered, “Answer me.”

Link's hands shook as he wrote:  _ My sister _ .

“Is she alive?”

_ I think so. _

__ “None of my sisters are alive,” Ganondorf said conversationally, and asked, “Are you close?”

_ We were. _

__ “I used to be close to my sister, Nabooru,” Ganondorf traced the edges of the book he held, “Sisters are important, aren't they? She was older, by a few minutes, and we did everything together. We were both going to be priests, and my birth made our family royal. Gerudo culture doesn't have our leaders the way you do, we had a council of elders it's... I'm not going into it here. But the title, the leadership role... I thrust that upon us with my birth. She didn't ask for it.”

“The legends said that when a child was born  _ different _ , they were special. It was a gift from the gods, because in my adulthood, I would be able to produce strong children- with no Hylian influence. I could create  _ true _ Gerudo. They were supposed to be stronger... but more importantly it meant that I was an idea, a symbol of self-sufficiency. You don't know what it's like, can't know what it's like... Hylians produce men. Hylians can have children on their own. You can't have a similar idea... I don't expect you to understand. The point is: I was important, for something I  _ was _ , not something I  _ did _ .”

“We needed Hylians. You're not Gerudo, but you are  _ human _ . These differences that matter so much to us... I don't know if other races can even see them. Demons refer to all of us, call us 'human' before they'll say a race, I think out of fear that they may be wrong. We needed you. And you deserted us, banished us- for many of you, you banished  _ your own daughters _ . And yet... we did not die. We did not shrivel to nothing. We survived-  _ I  _ survived despite your best efforts. Do you understand that? You Hylians write history books that call us thieves and rapists, but that is because you preferred our deaths, and mocked our survival.”

“No, you are not Gerudo.” Ganondorf leaned into Link's personal space, “But I will not give up on humanity. I will not allow your  _ toxic  _ culture to  _ infest  _ my country. I will weed it out, do you understand me? I will not be guilted by the man who would, even now, kill me in my sleep if the opportunity arose and consider it an act of  _ heroism _ . I will teach your pathetic race the concept of empathy if it kills you.”

_ That isn't what happened with the Gerudo Wars- they were banished because they attacked the forest guardian- _

__ “I WAS THERE, YOU FOOLISH HYLIAN DOG!” Ganondorf bellowed, and Link's eyes widened at the glow from the back of his hand, and the knowledge that slapped him in the face.

He was there.

He was there and Link wasn't, and the Gerudo were dead. Ganondorf was the ONLY Gerudo in existence, and the ONLY person who had actually seen what had caused their downfall. He didn't know what to say, and looked away.

He sat the quill on the table and stood, letting his body guide him on instinct. He reached out and took Ganondorf's glowing hand in both of his own, and clung even when he tried to pull away. He let the magic flow through his body as he stared at the sacred symbol on the back of his hand. How was it possible? How could Ganondorf have it? He had to have been chosen by the goddesses- there was no other answer. It wasn't something that could be stolen: it HAD to be freely given. But how could the gods see fit to bless someone so evil?

He knew the answer, but he would not admit it.

“It's painful for me,” Ganondorf sounded much calmer, as if he had collected himself. “I think it wants to be whole. If I had the princess- I mean, the queen... that may slate it. You feel it, don't you? We dream each other's dreams... feel each other's thoughts... Yet...” He sighed. “It's pointless to try to explain it to you. You'll never know what it's like to be alone.”

I-

Link traced the single letter onto the triforce symbol on the back of Ganon's hand. He didn't know how to end the sentence, didn't know how to continue, so it broke, and ended between them, and Ganondorf stared down at him.

“You know that my country lay within a vast desert. You know where we were banished, the place you now call the “Arbiter's Grounds”. You must understand that we were sent there to die. When the sun rose into the sky, a burning wind punished my lands, searing the world. And when the moon climbed into the dark of night, a frigid gale pierced our homes. No matter when it came, the wind carried the same thing... Death. But the winds that blew across the green fields of Hyrule brought something other than suffering and ruin. And it had been taken from us. By your people's selfishness. I need you to understand that.”

Link wouldn't meet his gaze, focused instead on the symbol on the back of his hand. He held Ganondorf's hand in his right, and raised his left, watching them react with each other. Ganondorf was right; the magic engulfed him, it seemed stronger, happier. It wanted to be whole.

R-e-v-e-n-g-e-W-o-n-t-B-r-i-n-g-T-h-e-m-B-a-c-k

“I know.” Ganondorf hung his head, “That is the reason you still stand.”

Link nodded.

T-h-e-r-e-W-i-l-l-B-e-R-e-s-i-s-t-a-n-c-e

“I know,” Ganondorf took Link's hand in his own and traced the symbol there with his thumb, “I sometimes wish...”

Link tilted his head, reading Ganon's face.

“I wish I had a hero, a champion, like the Hylians. Don't you? Do you ever long for someone to... save you? Take this burden, this curse away and keep you safe? What  _ right  _ does she have to force that upon you? What right does she have to demand it? Neither of us get that! These Hylians always demand things they do not deserve!” he snarled and Link winced as he squeezed his hand.

He gasped, and Ganondorf seemed to snap back to reality. He realized that he was the source of the pain, and released Link's hand.

“You shouldn't be this weak and stupid,” Ganondorf explained, and Link glared at him, “I'll be taking over your education.”

Link sighed, shook his hand out and tried to write, though it hurt when he moved he was sure it would fade quickly.

_ Ghirahim said something about that. Why? Why not just kill me and be done with it? _

__ “If you can't figure that out on your own, I'm not telling you,” Ganondorf seemed insulted. He picked up the document Link had ruined with two fingers and touched it gently. When he saw that it was not yet dry he sighed and carried it, dripping, to a waste bin.

Both of them jumped at the sound of the rooster crowing from the training grounds, and both broke into a run to press their faces to the window.

“No!” Ganondorf screamed as the two of them watched the carnage breaking out below. “Who would do this? Who could be so evil!? Or so foolish?”

Link shrieked as one of the cuccos slammed into the glass, and Ganondorf pulled him away from the window and shoved him behind his impressive girth.

“Surely the castle has planned for this?” he asked, and Link nodded. Everyone would head inside, they would close the shutters, just as Ganondorf were doing, and barricade themselves for safety. Eventually, the creatures would calm, and the danger would pass, and everything would be alright. The only danger would befall anyone who was still out on the training ground.

“GHIRAHIM!” Ganondorf screamed, and the demon appeared in a flurry of diamonds looking disheveled- feathers in his hair, cloak torn to shreds, face contorted in a look of desperation. He was clinging to the wrists of a woman, who had a crossbow in each hand, apparently in the act of subduing her.

“It is,” he panted, “An honor to be summoned, Ma- FUCK!”

He had successfully disarmed her, but the woman had spun on her heel and buried her boot into the crystal at his side hard enough to send him reeling.

“Get off me, creep!” she screamed, and jumped back, apparently completely undisturbed by the change of location.

“You brat!” Ghirahim stood, and a sword appeared in his hand, “I will make you regret the day you and your... death birds(?) laid siege to the home of my master! I will destroy you! I will strangle you with your own tacky necklace!”

“Tacky! This is an ancient artifact passed down in my family from-”

“Don't care!” Ghirahim waved his hand and a series of daggers flew at her, which she avoided by flipping to the side.

“What the hell?” Ganondorf had asked, but when he turned to look for Link, he was no longer there.

Ghirahim was upon the girl in a second, and had his sword raised to strike, but pulled back as Link stepped between them, and scooped her up by the waist. He pulled her into the tightest hug he could manage, and buried his face in her shoulder, breathing so heavily he was afraid he might pass out. Ghirahim broke his stance and stood, staring first at Link, then turning his eyes to Ganondorf, who shrugged.

“Link?” the girl asked. She pulled him back by the shoulders as Ghirahim lowered his weapon.

He nodded, stepped back, and made a series of hand gestures that she seemed to understand.

“Of course I'm alive!” She threw up her arms, “I'm descended from the Hero of Time!”

He moved his hands again and rolled his eyes.

“I was worried about YOU! And the queen! I'm on a quest to save the queen!”

Link shoved her, his anger apparent, and his hands moved frantically.

“She's fine! I got two of the neighbor boys to cover my chores!”

Link shook, balled his hands into fists,rubbed his temples, then began to sign again.

“I'm a dumbass? Coming from  _ you? _ ” She laughed, “We stopped getting letters, Link! We got worried! I wasn't going to sit at home and watch you die!”

“So are we...?” Ghirahim asked Ganondorf, and he shrugged again, so Ghirahim turned his attention back to the woman, “Skychild, move. This woman attacked during my training and may very well have cut our army in half! She had these monsters that descended upon us in a swarm. I gave the order to retreat, but I was trying to subdue the threat- I'm not sure how much destruction she left in her wake!”

Link grabbed his hand and pulled him close enough to write on his chest.

P-l-e-a-s-e

“Please what?” he asked.

D-o-n-t-K-i-l-l-H-e-r

“Skychild, get out of my way,” he snarled.

“Linkle?” Ganondorf asked, and the girl turned to him.

“Who are you?” She demanded.

“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf ordered, “Don't kill her. Take her to the dungeon.”

Ghirahim gritted his teeth as he answered, almost against his will, “Yes, master.” And the two of them disappeared in a flurry of diamonds.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I'm sorry this chapter got real slice-of lifey and not a lot happens. It's actually only really half a chapter, but the second half has to be rewritten to make it more clear what I was going for. ALSO: This fic is way too goddamn long, so pretty soon it's going to come to a close, but it's also kind of my art therapy for dealing with my life right now, so it'll be the first part in a series, wherein hopefully things will get completely resolved. So be prepared for part 2: Adventure in Lorule or Seriously, Fuck Vaati.
> 
> And possibly Part 3, the heart-wrenching conclusion wherein Link has to decide which side he's on. 
> 
> But for now, enjoy this, the daily running of a kingdom by a man who is more used to life on the battlefield, Link trying to break a magic spell to talk to his sister, Zant oversleeping, and Ghirahim being completely done with the overwhelming amount of bullshit he's recently had to put up with. I'll either update this or post the second half as a new chapter once I finish it.
> 
> As always, I wanna thank my beta reader Saint who makes this shit readable! 
> 
> And if anyone wants to throw a couple bucks my way, they can do so here: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

Ganondorf had dismissed him almost immediately, and Link ran towards the dungeons, taking the stairs two or three at a time.  He had been amazed on his first round to find them empty, given the nature of the people he was imprisoned by, but Linkle seemed to fill it by herself, with the strength of her voice.

“GIVE ME BACK MY CLOTHES, YOU CREEP!” she shrieked, and Link covered his eyes.

“I’m doing you a favor,” Ghirahim spat, “I don’t know what happened in Hyrule to make you people that you should run around in short pants and hoods, but you were absolutely mislead.”

“It’s a tunic and a cloak, and my grandmother made them for me!” She rattled the bars of her cell.

“Your grandmother has hideous taste!” he snarled, “though I do applaud the iron in the boots…  that isn’t a terrible idea…  I feel as if I’ve seen it before.”

“My grandma has bad taste?  Coming from a guy with THAT haircut?  You look like the guy who runs the luck games at the Mask Festival that the little kids are scared to play!  You’re going to call anyone out?  Did you do your makeup in the dark?”

Ghirahim threw the armor over his shoulder and it disappeared in a flash of diamonds.  He snapped his fingers and pulled a sword from the ether.

“You know, you senseless brat,” he mused, “My master forbade me from killing you.  But those creatures you brought against me have led me to a new level of understanding on the subject of Hylian mortality.  I’m simply  _ amazed  _ by what you people can live through.”

Link ran, rolled to pick up speed, and stood with his arms outstretched between Ghirahim and his sister.

“Move,” Ghirahim demanded, and Link shook his head.  “Honestly, Skychild, I had hoped all my hard work had paid off.  I had really hoped that my training had accomplished something.  I am your superior.  When I give you an order, you  _ obey  _ it!”

He backhanded Link hard enough to send him splaying to the ground, but he was amazed by the speed with which he picked himself up and stood between them again.  He cracked his neck, squared his shoulders, and glared up at the demon.

“Link, move!” Linkle demanded, “I can handle this.”

Link shook his head, turned to face her, and his hands made solid, angry motions as he signed.

_ No, dumbass, you can’t.  That’s why you’re naked in a jail cell.  You should not have come here. _

__ “Link-”

_ No! _

He slammed his hands against the bars to emphasize his point, then continued.

_ War isn’t exactly like the letters I sent, Linkle.  I didn’t want to scare you.  But these people will kill you.  I can’t believe you brought cuccos.  This guy G-h-i-r-a-h-i-m is an actual demon.  DEMON.  Please just stay here and don’t cause trouble while I try to talk them into letting you out. _

__ “Skychild,” Ghirahim demanded, and Link turned to face him, “Explain to me why you have such an attachment to this mortal in particular.  She’s done a lot of damage, hurt a lot of people.  If not for my master’s orders I would slay her where she stands.”

Link nodded, pulled out his journal and wrote frantically.

_ She’s my sister.  She’s a civilian with no training.  She doesn’t know what she’s doing! _

__ Link thought, and decided to parrot Ghirahim’s words back to him.

_ I don’t think she’s malicious, just stupid.  Please don’t hurt her. _

__ An idea sprang to mind, so he glanced at Ghirahim, then back to the journal to write.

_ Whatever the punishment is, I’ll take it.  Do it to me. _

__ Ghirahim sighed and lowered his weapon.

“We didn’t have time for this, Skychild.” He gave Linkle a disgusted look, then turned his gaze back to Link, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

_ Through the cucco attack? _

__ “I suppose that makes sense, but I believe you’re lying to me, which I told you not to do.  Am I supposed to believe you ran all the way from our bedchamber to the library in a span of a few seconds?  After you got dressed?  And armed yourself?  And did this…  barely passable job on your face?”  He waved a hand over Link’s face to indicate what he was talking about.  “I’m a sword spirit, Skychild.  Possibly the most difficult creature in existence to lie to.  Yet you continue to defy me.  You ignored my order to rest.  You ignored my order to speak the truth.  You ignored my order to stand down.  And I am not particularly happy that you seem to have exerted some sort of control over my master.  You!” he looked past Link at Linkle, “live because of the mercy of the great Ganondorf, the Demon King!  Do not forget that!  Were it up to me, you would not draw another breath.”

_ Can I explain?  _

Link held the journal over his face when he showed Ghirahim what he had written.

“You can try.”  Ghirahim snarled, and added, “As a personal favor to you, Skychild, who is deserving of  _ no  _ favors, we will take our leave.  GUARDS!”  He snapped his fingers, and five moblins appeared in a cloud of diamonds, “This Hylian is related to the legendary hero.  Be careful.  Take no chances.  Don’t listen to a word she says.  Do not change shift with any Hylians, regardless of how loyal they seem.”  he grabbed Link by the arm and murmured, under his breath, “Zant thinks I don’t know how to delegate.  Well Zant can go…  I’m not going to finish that thought.  I like him and he’s under a lot of stress.  It would be rude of me.”  He threw his sword into the ether and tightened his grip on Link.

Link nodded and scrambled to put his journal away as Linkle shouted his name.  He nodded to her and began to sign.

_ I’ll be fine!  Stay quiet!  Stay safe.  I love you. _

He hoped he was telling her the truth as he watched the world before him tilt and fall away in segments, until he and Ghirahim were back in the library.  Ghirahim fell to one knee, dragging Link with him, and they watched Ganondorf open the shutters he had closed.

“Who hit it?” He asked.

“Hit…  what, master?” Ghirahim asked the carpet.

“The cucco, Ghirahim, who attacked it?  They never attack unprovoked.  They are gentle creatures by nature.  It is said that the goddesses gaze through them.  They give us feathers, eggs, protection, and in return we care for them.  They are so gentle and so giving that it is said the goddesses cannot gaze upon one who would harm them, and issues instant death.”

“I…  did not know that, master,” Ghirahim admitted.  “And I do not know who struck the first blow.  I was busy with the girl.  Someone must have made a mistake.  But I will never forget it.  I should have known it.  It is my duty to gather information.  This was severely neglectful on my part.  It will never happen again, but I understand my transgression and will accept my punishment with dignity and-”

“Every time I tell you not to do something you give the same speech,” Ganondorf noticed, “Why?”

“It’s…  what you told me, master.” Ghirahim looked up at him, “In the desert, when you resurrected me.  You said that failure would bring death.”

“Failure on the battlefield,” Ganondorf sighed and massaged his temples, “Why is  _ everything  _ so dramatic with you?  Every little thing is not life or death.”

“I’m sorry I misunderstood you, master,” Ghirahim looked back to the floor, “I understand my transgre-”

“Oh my god,” Ganondorf cut him off, “Just…  stand up”

He stood, and pulled Link with him.

“That girl brought the cuccos with her?” Ganondorf asked.

“Yes, master!  A flock of them.  She stormed into the training ground screaming that she was going to save the queen.  Which made little sense because the queen is obviously not here.  Several people tried to explain that to her, but she seemed rather…  stupid.  Even by the Hylians’ shockingly low standards.  I tried to subdue her, and I failed to do so quickly enough to heed your call.”

“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf’s tone turned dark, serious, “If ever you find yourself in a situation involving cuccos again, flee.  They are an unstoppable force that cannot be killed.  No matter how many you fell, more will replace them.  We have all seen stupid people fall to cucco as a monument to hubris.  I will not watch it happen to you.”

“Please don’t worry for me, master,” Ghirahim bowed and quickly righted himself, “But I will obey you.”

“Good.  You’re dismissed.  Good luck with the Hylians.”  Ganondorf said.

“Thank you, master.” Ghirahim raised his hand to snap his fingers, but stopped at the sound of Ganondorf’s voice.

“Ghirahim?”

“Yes, master?”

“Good work, today.  Never before have I seen anyone fight through a swarm of cucco.  Ignorance or no, that is impressive.”

“Thank you, master!” Ghirahim’s voice dropped a full octave and dripped with a sweetness that put Link on edge.  He smiled as he disappeared.

“I assume he took everything from the prisoner?” Ganondorf asked as he made his way back to the table where he had been writing.

Link nodded.

“Those Hylian cells don’t have beds…”  He picked up a piece of paper, flattened it on his block, and wrote as he spoke, “So she’ll need a mattress, either straw or feathers, bedclothes, something to wear…”  He grumbled in thought, then stood back and blew on the paper to dry it.  “Here, boy,” he huffed, “Take this to the laundress and get these supplies, then take them to your sister.  Do not do anything,” he looked up and met eyes with Link, “By action or inaction that would let her out of that cell or, directly or indirectly, allow or aid in her escape.  Stop freeing my prisoners.  They all deserve to be there.  Is that clear enough?  I’m going to sit here and rewrite the laws you destroyed.  This system of feudalism makes no sense…  we’ll just use a multitiered taxation code like the Twili under Zant’s reign.  That was mindless math…  you people pay your government in eggs and pigs…  how the hell am I supposed to know how many hydro melons to charge someone?  What’s the rate of exchange?  What’s wrong with you people?”

Link nodded again.

“Link.  Understand that what your sister did today was an attack.  I want you to understand that.  I cannot allow anyone to undermine my rule, not with my approval already so low among your people.  She hurt many people, and I won’t know the extent of the damage until I receive Ghirahim’s report.  I can’t show favoritism.  There are those within my ranks who think I’m showing it with you.  There are many who think you should be executed.  Do not- look at me, boy.”

Link tore his eyes away from the paper and locked them with Ganondorf’s, which bored into him and made him want to back away.

“Do not make me regret this mercy.  Do you remember what happened last time?”

The muscles in Link’s back twitched.  He remembered.  He nodded.

“Good.  You’re dismissed.  Return to the dining hall for dinner or when I call you.  Apart from that, refrain from doing anything to undermine me.  I feel like I have to be extremely specific with these commands.  You’re more slippery than you led me to believe you would be.”  He smirked and turned his eyes back to the table, but there was more mirth in those eyes and that smile than Link was used to seeing.  He was pretty sure he had never seen it directed toward him before, only at times when Ganondorf was pleased with himself, like his coronation or after party.

Link held one hand over his heart and the other in the small of his back, and bowed.  He walked calmly to the door of the library, then broke out in a sprint.


	28. Chapter 27B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the second half of chapter 27, so the things in that chapter summary that didn't happen last time, will happen here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I had to split this up, but my betaer pointed out some stuff that didn't make any sense, and I was trying to figure out a way to fix it without having to rewrite the whole chapter. So I posted the first half, the half that wasn't broken so badly, just so yhall would have something, because I knew it was going to take me a while to fix this. Don't worry, though, I do have another chapter written and I'm getting ready to sit down and maybe finally finish this monster.
> 
> BUT because as I've mentioned, this fic is a kind of outlet for me while I work on an actual fantasy series I'm writing that I would like to one day get published as an original work, it'll probably continue until I'm done with that. So I'm going to end this fic and instead make it a series that'll take place in more digestible chunks. I'm a huge Zelda fan so writing this is fun and easy and gives me a creative break from the strain of trying to build a whole world. If anyone wants to beta read the book, the first draft is now finished! So let me know and I'll give you the google doc link.
> 
> As always, I wanna thank my AMAZING beta reader, Saint, who is a godsend. I have so much shit in my head that I forgot to put some pretty important shit on paper (or computer screen, whatever) and this chapter wouldn't have made a lick of sense without them. This story got a lot more serious than I originally intended, and that means that it needs to be treated less as an exercise in frivolity, and more as a real story with proper continuity and character development.
> 
> As this draws to a close, the people who are here for the GanLink, who have got to be feeling ignored, please rest assured that I always did intend for that to be the case or I wouldn't have tagged it as such. My issue is that I've read so many GanLink fics where the character's personalities don't make sense, and it bothered me. I wanted to create a world where that relationship would make sense. Link is a hero, not a meek dumbass who just accepts this person who he sees as a literal DEMON KING, the incarnation of evil, the boogie-man that Hylian children hear cautionary tales about growing up- as a possible friend or romantic interest. I just don't buy it. So I needed a lot of time to set up this circumstance where he'd be FORCED to see Ganondorf as a person with a history and a backstory, and recognize it. Link is so loyal to Zelda that Gan just TELLING him those things doesn't work. We saw that in Wind Waker, when Gan TRIES to do that very thing, and Link looks at him like he's bored. He doesn't pay attention. There has to be a gradual change that would make him receptive to that information. Maybe not 80,000 words gradual, though, so I know I've cheated yhall. I was freewriting and I didn't have an outline or anything, and that's on me. I screwed you.
> 
> I'm going to make it up to you. If you've stuck with it this long, you deserve something. Because this was ridiculous. There's maybe two or three more chapters of this, then we'll get into a story that I'm gonna put spoilers for in the end notes. So don't wanna know, don't read them.
> 
> Oh, and before I forget, if you want to toss a couple bucks my way, I do have a ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/takocos

Link was much more calm upon his second visit to the dungeon, loaded with his burden from the laundress and more confident in his own abilities.  He was hoping, though he knew it was probably futile, that Ghirahim would change his mind about punishing him, since in the past any retaliation had been swift and merciless.  It had certainly never been promised, avoided, and then rewarded with a favor.  It was completely out of character, so he hoped that perhaps Ghirahim was so stressed about his ongoing lie to the person he claimed to love that he would completely forget about him.

Linkle was not being quiet or submissive like Link had ordered her to.

She had a huge bruise that covered most of her shoulder, already purple and swollen, yet as Link rushed to meet her, he watched her slam into the door of her cell hard enough to rattle the lock, but not hard enough to break it.

Stupid.

It was obvious that locked doors required keys.

He huffed and kicked one of the bars to get her attention.

“Link!” she screamed like an idiot who had no concept of stealth, “You’ve come to save me!”

He stared at her in annoyance and nodded at the bundle in his arms in the hopes that she would understand.  When she made no movement to reach through the bars to take anything he rolled his eyes and dumped everything on the ground so his hands would be free to speak.

_ Will you please put some clothes on?  You’re going to freeze to death and also I’m not a fan of the whole “pussy out” look on my SISTER.  Here, I brought you a dress from the laundress.  I think it’s what the servants wear. _

“That’s a great idea, Link!” she took it the second he picked it from the pile and offered it to her, “We can sneak out!  I can pretend to be maid and escape!”

_ I mean,  _ he sighed and shook his head,  _ you maybe could have done that.  But then you screamed about the secret plan in front of the guards. _

“They can’t understand me,” she huffed as she pulled the simple dress over her head, “they’re moblins.”

_ They can speak Hylian.  I didn’t know that either, but they can.  All that grunting and whining they do is a language, I’m pretty sure.  So…  that was a bad plan.  But don’t worry, I’m going to- _

He gasped as his hands seized in pain.  He waited it out like the warrior he was, flicked his wrists as if shaking them would fix the problem, then rubbed the one Ganondorf had crushed.

“Are you ok?” she asked in concern.

Link nodded, shook his head, sighed, and ran the hand that hurt the least through his hair.

_ I don’t know _ .

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I’ll get out of here and then we’ll escape together!  What have you been doing all this time?  How are they keeping you here?”

_ It’s _ Link faltered.  He had no idea how to explain, how to answer her.  He eventually settled on,  _ It’s a lot, Linkle.  For starters, I’m apparently the reincarnation of the Hero of Time, but it’s more than that.  It goes back even farther. _

“Bullshit!” She laughed, “I’m the reincarnation of the hero of time!  I’m descended from the hero’s line.”

_ We’re both… we’re siblings, asshole.  Can you not be jealous for five seconds and think about how messed up that actually is?  Everyone here blames me for stuff I didn’t do!  Things I wasn’t alive for!  Impa, the queen’s attendant, is dead!  The only reason the queen escaped is because I was able to distract the bad guys long enough for her to flee. _

“How’d you do that?” she asked, leaning forward with both hands on the bars.

_ Ok so it was actually really badass.  We were being kept in a room full of monsters, kind of like you are now, and this shadow demon- oh, also shadow demons are real- but this shadow demon brought me a potion that allowed me to escape.  I slaughtered all the monsters, on my own, weaponless, in the nude, no armor.  But I got recaptured.  And tortured.  I instantly regret telling you that. _

Her eyes were the size of saucers and her lips trembled as she whispered, “Tortured?”

_ It wasn’t that bad. _

“What did they do to you?” She reached through the bars to cup his face, “Link…  I should have been there.  We should have never let you go away.  You should have stayed home with us, where you would be safe.”

_ You should have stayed home.  I couldn’t.  It would have caught up with me eventually.  Look. _

He peeled the glove off of his left arm and winced at the sight of his hand, which was much more bruised than he had anticipated, but when he held it up the faint outline of the triforce still shone on his flesh.  He closed his eyes and concentrated, like he would on a medallion or a magical weapon, and the mark brightened with a soft yellow light.

“By the goddess,” Linkle whispered, “You really are…  you’re the hero of time.”

_ I’m not a hero.  I failed.  I lost the master sword.  But I’m going to get it back, tonight.  I have to make them believe that I’m on their side, so…   _ He paused, shuddered, then continued,  _ I’m going to have to make some sacrifices before then, because I need them to take me to Lorule.  Don’t ask.  Long story.  Demon realm.  Everything is a long story.  I’ll get it back, and then I’ll come for you.  Everything is going to be alright.  We aren’t going to die.  Yet.  Please just stay here and keep your head down. _

“Does that demon think you’re his boyfriend?”  She asked, “Is that your cover?”

_ I have absolutely no response to that.  Why the hell would you think that? _

“ ‘Our bedchamber’?” She giggled.

_ Not fucking funny.  And no.  Ghirahim is weird.  And he hates me.  He thinks I killed his boyfriend. _

“Did you?  You’re a warrior!  And a hero!  I bet you killed a bunch of people.” 

_ Linkle, it’s this whole other thing that I don’t want to go into.  But if I did it was in a past life and I don’t remember it and he needs to get the fuck over it.  It’s been millenia.  Maybe he could stop bitching about his ex and, I don’t know, work on himself?  Get a hobby?  Some interests that aren’t all about some dead guy who honestly probably never loved him in the first place?  Or, alternatively Ghirahim could also just drop dead because he’s a fucking asshole.  He’s the one who tortured me and tried to kill you. _

“And he insulted my outfit!” She huffed.

_ Yeah don’t insult his hair again.  That bitch is crazy.  He loves that hair for some reason.  He cut his ear off so it would fall the way he wanted.  Fighting him is weird because you think you’re in a war but suddenly you’re in a streetfight.   _

He hesitated, then shrugged and decided to tell her everything on his mind.

_ He got me this outfit.  And showed me how to do makeup. _

“You look so pretty!  You look like the nobles I read about in romance novels!  You could be involved in a love triangle, steal some rich noblewoman away from her boring husband.  Then we wouldn’t have to work the farm anymore…”  she laid her head on the bars and let out a dreamy sigh, “Do you know how to clean pools?”

_ There is no scenario wherein my entire family will be able to live off my dick.  Will you please focus? _

“Don’t sell yourself short!  You’re cute!” She giggled.

_ Will you please be serious?  Also, don’t read that stuff.  It’s trash.  Here, take this bed and fill it with this straw and put the blankets and stuff on it and at least you’ll have somewhere to lay down. _

“So who was the man in the library?  The big guy?  I’ve never seen someone that big.  Or with such short ears.”  She bent down and dragged things through the gap between the bars, but quickly realized that she wouldn’t be able to take the entire bag of straw at once, so sat on the floor, dirtying her new dress, and took out handfuls one at a time.

_ Ganondorf Dragmire, the Demon King.  The new king of Hyrule. _

Her eyes widened in shock and her hands trembled.

“The Demon King?  The one who fought the hero of time and killed the old king?  The man who started the Gerudo wars?  He’s alive?  He’s real?”  she threw both hands over her open mouth as the realization hit her, “I was in the same room with him!  I threatened to kill him!  And he let me live?  Why would he do that?”

_ I think _ …  Link paused to think.  He had asked himself the same question.   _ I think he misses his sisters.  I think he likes sisters. _

“He had a sister?  I guess I never thought…  about the pure incarnation of evil having a family.”  She shook as she piled more straw into her bed.

_ He says he had a bunch of sisters. _

“How are you getting information out of him?” She asked, “You’re not smart.”

_ I’m smarter than people think I am. _

“LINK,” the word echoed in his head, and it appeared that no one else could hear it.  Link recognized the voice and scanned the room looking for Ganondorf, but the man was nowhere in sight.

“LINK!” It echoed again, and the triforce on his hand glowed as he hastily pulled the glove over it.

“DO NOT MAKE ME TELL YOU AGAIN, BOY!  YOU COME WHEN YOU ARE SUMMONED!”  Link sighed.  The voice was coming from inside his own mind.  So that was new.  What fresh hell was that?

_ I have to go.  I’ll make sure someone brings you some food.  And I’ll try to sneak you some books.  Not romances. _

“Good luck!  May the goddesses bless you!” Linkle wondered, after the words had left her mouth, if the goddesses could bless him more than they already had, as she watched the sacred light on his hand fade away as he climbed the stairs.

 

Ganondorf and Ghirahim were joined by a regal looking zora and his attendants, but not by Zant, Yuga or Shadow, whom Link had expected to see.  The sight put him off, because there were no nameplates, and he didn’t know where he was supposed to sit, what with these people having a complete disregard for Hylian etiquette.  He thought the safest course of action would be to stand behind and slightly to the left of Ganondorf, like a good bodyguard, until he was asked to move.

As he took that position, he overheard a snatch of whispered conversation between Ghirahim and Ganondorf.

“Disobeyed my orders thrice, master.  And I thought I was making such good progress,” he sighed as if he were reliving some great tragedy.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Ganondorf assured him, “Where is my high priest?”  He looked to Link and narrowed his eyes, “Boy, sit down.  You make me nervous at my back.”

Link took out his journal and wrote quickly.

_ I don’t know where to sit.  Also, Zant is asleep.  Also also, I disobeyed Ghirahim because he was going to hurt Linkle after you told him not to. _

Link smirked at Ghirahim, though even as he did it he knew it was a mistake that he would pay for later.  But that was a problem for future Link, and he considered it a trade-off for the small leverage now.  Ganondorf, however, seemed to have no emotional reaction to what he had read.  His voice was perfectly calm when he spoke.

“Ghirahim, pet, I need you to go fetch Zant.  Apparently he is unable to hear my summons.”

“Of course, master,” Ghirahim stood, bowed, and disappeared.

“Link, have a seat opposite Prince Sidon.  He likes to look at you.” Ganondorf smiled and Link tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at him, but did as he was told.  “It’s a good thing, too,” Ganondorf turned his attention back to the prince, “Because looking is really all you can do with the poor boy.  He has some sort of affliction that renders him unable to speak.”

“Oh no,” Sidon sighed, “What a shame.  I’m sure he had a wonderful voice.  What happened?  Did he lose his tongue?”

“I think it’s a nervous affliction.  There doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him.” Ganondorf explained as Link cowered under the attention.

He didn’t like it at the best of times, when it was among peers, but seated with royalty and having all eyes on him made him want to get up from the chair and bolt.  He made to do so, but his body disobeyed him.  He hated the crystal.  He would eventually take great pleasure in shattering it alongside the one on Ghirahim’s hip.

“The poor thing,” Sidon looked genuinely concerned for him, and Link tried to offer him a shaky smile.  It seemed to be important that he impress the prince.  “How strange for someone with so much confidence in battle.  I heard the little hero here killed over a thousand of his enemies all on his own.”

“I would love to say that’s an exaggeration,” Ganondorf sneered, “But no, our little fallen hero has slain over 25,000 of my warriors.  Single-handedly.  Would you like to know how I know that with such accuracy?  Because these Hylians count their murders on a scoreboard in the training grounds as if they are trophies.”

Had it been that many?  Link folded his hands in his lap and became very interested in his gloves.  Twenty five thousand people.  A quarter of a million.  Ganondorf had called him a monster, a murderer.  But Fi had told him…  she could do more.  The more blood he spilled, the more moves she could teach him.  She had said that he needed to learn all he could to slay Ganondorf.  And she had been right, because obviously he hadn’t been strong enough or smart enough on his own.  And now she was missing, and there was blood on his bruised hands…  for what?

That was the thought process of a prisoner, so Link put a stop to it, sat up straight, and smiled at the Zora prince.  He was not a prisoner, he was a goddamn warrior.

“King Dragmire,” Sidon dragged his eyes from Link with great reluctance, “You say this pretty little thing cannot be trusted?”

“He has been influenced by the former queen.”  Ganondorf explained, “You have to admire his loyalty.  I only wish it were better placed.”

“Such a formidable warrior for one so small,” Sidon sighed, dreamy-eyed as his gaze returned to Link.

Maybe he could steal some pretty little noble’s affections.  But not tonight.  Tonight he had to travel to Lorule and retrieve Fi.  Once he had the master sword, he would only need to rid himself of the crystal, then he would be able to kill the Demon King, free Linkle, and find the queen.  Breaking the impossible task into small fragments made it more manageable.  A six item to-do list.  Any idiot could do six things.

He was not looking forward to step one: getting Ganondorf to trust him enough to send him to Lorule, because despite Ghirahim’s training, the seduction and subsequent sexual portions of the plan were going to be the most difficult.  Both because he was bad at them, and because he flat out didn’t want to do them.  Also because Ghirahim, who had been an ally for step one, was now angry with him, and he didn’t know if he wanted to exert the effort it would take to bring Ghirahim back to his side or go over his head and put all his effort into Ganondorf.

He smiled and lowered his head at the prince’s praise, and hoped he looked as humble as he was pretending to be.  Perhaps Ganondorf would interpret the gesture as one of submission and regret.  At least both accepted that he wouldn’t be expected to talk, and therefore he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over his words.

“Zant apologises for his tardiness, master,” Ghirahim said as he appeared in his trademark flash of diamonds, “he will be along shortly.  He humbly requests that we start the meal in his absence.”

In truth, Zant had awoken in a panic, believing Ghirahim was awakening him to take him to Lorule, and when he found that was not to be the case, his panic had grown worse.  Ghirahim had scoffed, and asked that at the very least he calmed his nerves and changed his clothes to something that wasn’t torn and, in his words, “pathetically styled”.

This had worsened Zant’s panic to a degree that Ghirahim didn’t think possible, as he had assumed that the second level was the maximum, and Ghirahim had been forced to excuse himself before Zant’s insane flailing and shrieking damaged something.  But he thought he conveyed the gist of this encounter to his master, while revealing nothing to their guests.

“The high priest seems to be having difficulty adjusting to civilian life,” Ganondorf explained to his guests, “he may have a fairly long…  transitionary period.”

“Zant’s entire life has been one of war,” Ghirahim added, “Firstly against a ruling class that subjugated him, then to take revenge on the people who banished him.  Our friend has known great hardships.”

“How much longer are we going to be blessed with your company, Sidon?” Ganondorf asked, trying to derail the dramatic pity train he saw Ghirahim loading up.

“I have already sent words to my merchants, King Dragmire,” Sidon seemed unable to call Ganondorf by his first name as he had requested, “And I had planned to leave either tomorrow or the next day.  I hate to be so hasty after you have been so giving, but I know that if I don’t spent a little time at home my father won’t let me return for your autumn festival.”

“I haven’t been to a mask festival in quite some time,” Ganondorf mused, “I think I’ll be a boar.”

“I’ve been reading up on it, master!” Ghirahim clasped his hands in excitement, “And I hope that you’ll be willing to continue the Hylian tradition of the masked ball!  I know that most of their culture is horrid, but it sounds like a splendid party!”

“You take any excuse for a party,” Ganondorf chuckled.

“Sorry I’m late!” Zant rushed in and took his seat just as the servants were setting out the first course, “It’s been a long day.  And it’s going to be a long night.”

“Why is it going to be a long night?” Ganondorf asked, and Zant’s eyes grew wide.

Ghirahim glared at him, and Link smirked into his wine glass.

“Now that everything has been moved over from the fortress,” Zant cobbled the lie together as he went along, “I had hoped I could…  spend the night…  with the tome you spoke of.”

“The Book of Mudora?” Ghirahim hissed.

“Yes!  That one!”  Zant nodded and ran a hand over his new hood.  He changed the subject with as little grace as he lied as he continued, “So word around the castle is that something happened in the training ground?”

Link listened intently as talk turned to the new prisoner, but to his utter delight nothing of note happened during the dinner.  The zora prince had a regal charm about him that made the time fly by, and he kept asking Link questions without expecting an answer.  Unlike most people, he didn’t seem to mind the one-sided conversation.  So it was to Link’s utter disappointment that the dinner drew to a close, especially because when he exited the dining hall, Ghirahim grabbed him by the arm and held him as everyone else left.

“I am profoundly disappointed, Skychild,” he explained, “To see such abysmal behavior.”

Link nodded.

“You said you wanted to explain yourself.  I told you to sleep.” Ghirahim glanced around the room, and tugged Link to one of the servants’ doorways, hidden by a curtain.  Any servants who may have been in the hall fled at the sight of them as Ghirahim slammed Link’s back into the wall.

“My patience wears thin with you.  If I do not receive a suitable answer, I will flay the flesh from your body the way your hunters treat deer, do you understand me?”

Link nodded frantically and put one hand over Ghirahim's on his shoulder.  It seemed that his plan of ‘going over his head’ and relying on Ganondorf absolutely was NOT going to work.  Ghirahim was taking his orders more and more loosely as the stress ate away at him, and Link knew better than to doubt his threats.  He had to use every resource at his disposal to get him back on his side: beg, borrow, steal, lie, or…  the demon did seem to like his body.

“Ghirahim?” he whispered, and when the demon fell for the trap and leaned in to better hear him, Link lunged with all his might, threw his arms around his shoulders, and kissed him as deeply as he could manage.

Ghirahim shoved him away and stared down at him.

“Was that supposed to be an explanation?”

Link nodded, shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, and changed tactics.  Fi was completely unmoved by emotion, but Ghirahim seemed to thrive on them.  So he needed to convince him that he was emotional, as emotional as Ghirahim had been the night he had cried over his dead master.  Link had to cry.  So he  tried to think of the saddest thing he could.  His mind filtered through so many things: Impa’s death, Linkle rotting in a cell, his grandmother all alone back on the farm, and when Link turned his eyes back to Ghirahim they were full of tears.  He wriggled to make space between them so he could pull out his journal and write.

_ I’m sorry I disobeyed you.  Linkle is my sister, my family.  She loves me.  I don’t want to lose someone I love.  I tried to sleep but I’m alone, surrounded by enemies.  I couldn’t.  I’m in danger all the time.  You’re immortal, you can’t understand that.  I don’t want to be this person.  I didn’t chose the soul of this madman you all hate.  I’m broken!  Fix me, Ghirahim! _

Keep up the mask.  Keep crying.  Make him think you’re weak.  Make him think you gave in.

He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and said with a shaky, broken voice, “Please, Ghirahim.  Help me.”

He watched Ghirahim’s eyes scan the page, watched his body for changes.  The pressure on his shoulders relaxed, and Link slumped against the wall instead of being pressed into it.  He let out the breath he was holding and leaned into the cool stone.

Then Ghirahim’s hand was around his throat, and there was darkness cracking the demon’s face.  Link threw his hands to Ghirahim’s arm, but resisted the urge to fight him.

“The thing about these lies, Skychild,” Ghirahim explained, so close Link could feel his breath on his ear, “is that you have to be careful with them.  If you keep telling them, you will begin to believe them.  Everything inside you is a lie.  You are polluted.  You have to break through them and find your truth if you ever want to be free.  Your queen does not love you and she is not searching for you.  You don’t desire freedom from a destiny you hope to fulfill.  You don’t want to be fixed because you do not believe yourself to be broken.  You still think this is a fairy tale, with maidens to save and monsters to slay, and a happy ending waiting.”

He squeezed, and Link saw stars.

“There is no happy ending, Skychild.  Happy endings come in the middle of lives.  Every mortal life is the same.  None of you get a happy ending because none of you come out alive.  Understand me when I say that you are merely choosing how you want to die.  Your mistake may be a fault of my own.  You perhaps believe in my myth of perfection, believe me to be whole and incorruptible.  You think I have everything, but there is one thing I lack.  Namely, mercy.”

He tossed Link to the stone floor, and the hero drew in a breath that drowned him.  He coughed and sputtered as his lungs tried to remember how to function, and Ghirahim kicked him in the side, forcing him to roll onto his back.

“Get up,” he demanded, and Link grabbed for him, took the hand that was offered, and pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the man who had thrown him.

“I won’t flay you alive,” Ghirahim admitted, “Because I don’t want that pretty body covered in scars when I present you to my master.  But you  _ cannot  _ keep doing this.  I’m a highly volatile demon and I am under a lot of stress right now!”

Link nodded, and hissed when Ghirahim knocked the wind out of him by shoving him against the wall.  He took a step back, and shocked Link when his hands began to move as he signed.

_ Sword demons learn quickly, S-k-y-c-h-i-l-d.  Did you think I wouldn’t know this was a language? _

Link’s eyes widened.  Of course he would.  Of course he would find some way to take away the language that no one in Hyrule seemed to speak.  It was practically a secret code.  But Ghirahim broke it like Fi broke through an enemy’s attack pattern.  They were too goddamn  _ smart _ , too good at their job of collecting data.  Why?

Ghirahim laughed.

And Link signed:  _ Well it would be stupid to say ‘yes’ now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the plans I've got for part 2 of this fic, second fic in an overarching story: Ganondorf's not gonna send Link to Lorule. I think I've built that up well enough that it's not a shock to anyone. He doesn't trust him, because he's not fucking stupid. There are precisely two people in this story who can touch the master sword, one who is madly in love with him and one who he doesn't trust not to stab him in his sleep. Gan's a master manipulator, on more than one occasion he set up puppet governments in two different kingdoms and pitted them against each other in a war that he controlled from behind the scenes. He's not stupid enough to send Link after the master sword.
> 
> What he is going to do, is send Ghirahim to Lorule, and keep Link with him while he tries to teach him a lot of the shit that Zelda kept from him, about the history of Hyrule, the three different timelines, and most importantly, about how Hylia and Demise have been puppeting all three of them to settle a fight they had centuries ago, and how it needs to fucking stop. How completely over that particular fight he is, and how it's only still a thing because Link keeps attacking him, and if he would STOP DOING THAT, that Gan now has everything he wants, and the land can be at peace under his leadership.
> 
> Will Link buy that? Hell if I know. I've not thought that far ahead, because like I said, this is a cathartic thing for me. But I'd like to think so. Plus, that'll split the story in two; Quest to Retrieve the Artifacts Vaati Stole and Quest to Get Link to Mind His Own Goddamn Business And Stay Out of the Shit Between Demise and Hylia.
> 
> So that's the direction I'm thinking about taking this. I welcome thoughts and suggestions, because you guys have been so nice and supportive. I've never really had a fic that got this kind of response. I don't get a lot of comments and shit on my other work, and it's a great feeling to know that someone is reading. It makes me think that maybe I can actually write a book. Hell, that chick who wrote 50 Shades started off writing fanfiction and made a fortune. Not that I'm comparing myself to her or think I'll see that kind of success. I never even read her book. I think we have vastly different writing styles. And my book is less about smut and more about psychological trauma.
> 
> My point is: Thank you. Thank everyone who's been reading. Thank you for everyone who left a comment. Thank god for Saint who has helped me so much.
> 
> Also, my love for the source material hasn't waned, and I wasn't gonna say nothing, but I've rambled on so long I might as well tell everyone. I've been replaying my favorite game of all time, A Link To the Past... and filming it. With commentary. So when I'm finished, I'll be posting my first Let's Play to Youtube, in all my terrible, old lady redneck accented glory. I've heard the kids like that stuff nowadays, and I know a lot of folk aren't gonna play A Link To The Past, but it's honestly the best game of all time, best game in the series (unless BOTW is better: I've not played it). I think that even people who are young enough that they've never seen a super nintendo should experience that game in some way.
> 
> So yeah, in conclusion, I guess. Thank you, to everyone.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendly reminder that Gannondorf essentially went to an all-girl's school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank my betaer, Saint!
> 
> if you want to toss a couple bucks my way, I do have a ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/takocos
> 
> Gan's bully is based on this fancomic: https://68.media.tumblr.com/ae8e63c246fd15160e608b1c63b0de2c/tumblr_nbaoaeZwqv1rryk78o1_1280.jpg

Ganondorf had taken the same training as the other Gerudo Warriors his age, as well as additional training related to his eventual reign.  In addition, after the painful trials of puberty, he began to take petitioners, and as a result, he found that his schedule was so tightly packed, he was completely unable to take part in normal teenage activities.  If he tried to sneak out to a party with illicit alcohol, someone would burst in demanding that he perform his male duty.  If he tried to sneak off behind the bleachers on the training grounds and take the pipe that was passed to him, his mothers would burst in and nag him about some sort of extra language or magical training he was supposed to be doing instead.

So it came as a relief to him, when his class was assigned guard duty in the fortress that bordered the Hylian Kingdom.  Yes, it was in the middle of nowhere and sparsely populated, and yes, it would be boring as hell- but it was very near an active waterfall, which by itself was a sight, and the young king craved boredom.  There were few Hylian attacks- this was long before the princess would declare war- and the isolation made it the perfect place to live out the normal fantasies he had been denied.

The few prisoners were normally only loud and annoying for their first few days.  Once they had accepted their fate, they tended to be quiet, speaking their guttural language only when one of the Gerudo ventured to sign the forms by their cells, choosing from the limited collection for genes that may be worth preserving.  Ganondorf hated to be there when that happened, because he didn’t want to listen to their begging.

He understood.  It had to be humbling to stoop so low as to consider a Hylian sire when he was standing  _ right there _ , a Gerudo capable of giving her much stronger children.

But he wasn’t a machine.

This month of patrolling the fortress was going to be a vacation for him.  He was going to sleep all night, or all day, depending on the shift he was given, and he was going to have free time for the first time in forever, which he was going to use to get shitfaced and think about all the parties he wasn’t going to.

As it was the middle of the night, he and his partner, a girl he had gone to school with, and who was also training to be a mage, and therefore spent a lot of time with him, Sivesa, planned to hole up in one of the prisoner’s rooms, drink, and have Ganondorf straighten her hair.  He had thought of growing out his hair, but he just didn’t have time to care for it properly.

“So you remember Aroni?” Sivesa asked as they walked.

“How could I forget?” Ganondorf scowled, “I’m so glad she decided to go the hunter route.  Do you remember when we were younger, she called me ‘Ganny-fat-fat’?”

“She’s a total bitch,” Sivesa agreed, “But she had a party and do you know what I saw?”

“I don’t care,” Ganondorf said, “Because I hate her.”

“Yeah but you’ll think this is  _ hilarious _ ,” Sivesa assured him, “Because we hate her.  And it’s fucking funny.”

“Fine,” Ganon sighed, “What did you see?”

“Well you know she’s been dating Kavili, right?” Sivesa asked.

“What?  No!  But she’s so sweet!  I had potions class with her and she’s just, always helping people and…  she has a bright future…  Also she put it a petition with me.” Ganondorf’s grip tightened on his scimitar, “She deserves better!”

“I know she put in a petition with you.  You know how I know that?” Sivesa asked.

“Oh god,  _ how? _ ” Ganondorf asked her.

“Because Arnoi brought it up and  _ lost her shit _ .  Apparently they hadn’t even  _ talked  _ about raising a child.  And when I say ‘lost her shit’ I mean she was drunk off her ass.  She was screaming and shit.  And then, she asks which sire-”

“Of course she was.  She’s a fucking drama queen.” Ganondorf rolled his eyes.

“No but, she asked which sire, and Arnoi tells her that she’s not using a voe, she put in a petition with  _ you. _ ”

“By Din’s glowing eyes,” Ganondorf smirked, “I hope her head exploded!  I hope she just burst into flame, when she found out that I’m gonna fuck her girlfriend.”

“Will you  _ listen _ ?” Sivesa smacked his arm and continued, “So this bitch actually says- in front of Din and everybody, she says, “LITTLE-GANNY-FAT-FAT!?’”

“Of course she does.”

“Gan say one more thing, and I’m not telling you how it ends.”

“Ok, what happened?” He smiled.

“So Kavili says, ‘ ‘Ganny-fat-fat’ has hips to DIE for and a waist you can fit in one hand.  I’d fuck him even if I wouldn’t get a child!’ And they broke up.  LOUDLY.  And I’m just sitting over there, watching this, wishing I were a bard, because it deserved to be immortalized in song.” Sivesa laughed.

“By Din, I wish I had been there.  I bet she wouldn’t say that shit to my face anymore.  I don’t like to brag-”

“But you’re gonna power through it,” she cut him off.

“Yes, I am.  Because that’s just the kind of person I am, I persevere.  But I may be the best mage in the tribe, after my mothers.”

“Is that so?” She mused.

“Yeah.  You should see me.  It’s a show.” 

“Can you conjure heat spells?” She asked, suddenly interested as they entered the room with the prisoner.

“Easily,” he bragged.

“Great,” She laid her weapons on the table and opened her pack.  She handed him a flat brush and he took it with a smile.  “Hold the hair as flat as you can, taunt with the brush, and heat it.  I want it as straight as the horizon slicked back in a high ponytail.”

“That’s going to take a million years.” Ganondorf teased.

“I have a pouch for the pipe,” she smiled, and walked back to the table.

 

It did take a long time, but Ganondorf was glad for the down time, and the slow pace.  He also discovered that he very much liked whatever she put in his glass and the pipe she kept handing him, even though it seemed to slow them down considerably.  They were on the night shift, and traded stories by the torchlight about wandering ghosts in the wasteland, a merchant who may or may not be an illusion, and the bones of creatures the size of houses.  They also spoke on much more petty topics, topics that Ganondorf had missed since he came of age; of fashion and hairstyles, cliques and gossip, of the real adulthood that loomed just over the horizon as they took their place as warriors within their tribe.

“Oh, the little voe has woken,” Sivesa giggled, and Ganondorf turned his eyes to the cell.

Sure enough, the Hylian was sitting on the bed, staring out at them in the torchlight.  His eyes were trained on Ganondorf.

“Can you see what he needs or should I do it?” Sivesa asked, “They always want something.”

“You repack the pipe.  I’ll take care of it,” Ganondorf finished the section he was on, removing the heat just before the edges so he didn’t dry them out, wiped his hands through his own hair to remove the excess oil, and stood.  “Do they ever actually try to escape?”

“I’ve never seen it.” She was packing the pipe again, “But I suppose that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.  Hell, if one actually managed to get out, I think I’d want his seed more.  I think that would say something about his ability.”

“That’s great,” Ganondorf laughed, “Maybe if that happened and everyone thought that way I could sleep more than four hours a night.”

“I have never met one who could complain about drowning in pussy,” She smirked, “I certainly wouldn’t.”

He waved her comments away, and wracked his brain, trying to remember the language.  He had studied it extensively, but as he walked near the bars, the Hylian began speaking frantically, far too quickly for him to understand.  Ganondorf had never spoken Hylian with a native before, and despite how hard he tried, he had no idea what the man was saying.

“Slow down, voe,” he commanded.

“Man!” Sivesa corrected him.

“Right,” Ganondorf nodded, and turned back to the prisoner, “Slow down, man.”

The Hylian looked panicked, broken in a way that Ganondorf had never witnessed before.  But these were the people who had banished them to die, who had taken away their homes, their safety, and their ability to reproduce.  If he would get over whatever it was that had broken him, he could have a good life here.  The Gerudo gave him anything he could want, food, water, shelter- the well behaved ones even got books and the ability to use the grounds on the fortress.  If they could prove that they could be trusted.  

Hylians never wanted to be trusted.

His ears perked up- it was adorable the way their ears moved to indicate their emotions- and he spoke more slowly.

“Please,” he begged.

“Do not  _ beg _ ,” Ganondorf huffed, “I can not stand the sound of it.  Have some dignity.”

“I’ve heard they all do that, eventually,” Sivesa told him.

“It’s annoying!” Ganondorf said to her, then tried to remember the vocabulary to speak to the man.  He was good at it, because his mothers were determined that he and Nabooru would be fluent, and had forced him to study it at length.

“What do you want?” he asked the man.

“Please,” the man begged again, and Ganondorf growled, “What is your name?”

Sivesa laughed.

“Shut up!” Ganondorf told her.

“Tell him, Gan!”

“Shut up!” he turned back to the man, and in his language, asked, “Why?”

“Because I…  we…  you and I,” the Hylian clutched at the bars, “I’ve not seen another man in so long.  You have to know what they do to me!  We’re…  please!  Free me!  You’re one of us!”

Ganondorf’s mouth hung open.  He didn’t know how to process what he had just heard.

He turned to Sivesa and asked, “Did you hear what he just called me?  Did you hear that?”

“He called you a voe,” she nodded.  “This one’s got a mouth on him, I guess.”

“Please,” the Hylian begged, “I…  don’t think my wife will take me back after this but…  I want to try, I have children.  You have to understand!  You’re the first man I’ve seen in-”

“I am no MAN, Hylian!” Ganondorf screamed, “I am a GERUDO!” he grabbed the clipboard that hung next to the cell and studied the names, and his eyes fell to the empty slots near the bottom, “You want to hear my name, voe?  I will make you remember it.” He snatched the charcoal that dangled from the pad by a string and wrote quickly, “Can you people read?” He asked as he flipped it so the Hylian could see it, “No, I can see you  _ can’t _ .  Well this line right here reads: Ganondorf Dragmire.”

“Please, I don’t know what I did to anger you, Mr Dragmire-”

“Your weakness sickens me!” Ganondorf cut him off, “Your entire culture is  _ weak _ , and  _ afraid _ .  I want you to know, Hylian, that I am fully aware that no children will come of this.”

The man stared at the clipboard, soas not to have to look at Ganondorf.

“I just want to hear you scream.” Ganondorf smacked the clipboard into the bars.

“Please, Mr Dragmire-” He began, but Ganondorf cut him off. 

“Now do not bother us again unless you actually need something!  I don’t want to hear your pathetic voice  _ begging  _ for freedom.”

The man backed until his knees hit the bed, and sat back down.  Ganondorf hung the clipboard back in its place and took his seat behind Sivesa.  He picked up his glass, drained it, and poured himself a refill.

“He called me a voe.” He said, and jerked another section of her hair to straighten.

“Ow!  Shit!” She hissed, and when his grip relaxed, she turned to face him.  He was staring at the cell, at the man who had curled up on his side.  “Gan?”  He continued to stare, and she thought she saw tears misting in his eyes.  “Ganondorf?”

He dropped her hair, and the brush, and she stood to throw her arms around his shoulders.

“You’re not a voe!” She whispered.

“I know but…” he wasn’t going to cry.  He wasn’t a child, he was a warrior, “Sometimes…  they come…  demanding…  and I know I’m supposed to be able to turn anyone away but…  I feel…  pressured... and my mothers…”

“Gan, it’s ok.  You’re drunk and you’re NOT a voe.  And if anyone treats you like one, tell your sister and she’ll beat the shit out of them.” She assured him, “And so will I!  You’re the toughest bitch in our year!  You’re going to be queen!  People would be throwing themselves at you even if you couldn’t produce children!”

“I’m not upset,” he lied.

“Why do people who reach adulthood think they have to be stoic?” Sivesa huffed, “You’re not used to drinking.  That’s all this is.”

“I wanna grow my hair out!” Ganondorf told her.  “I think maybe I’d do dreads?  Or like twists?  If I just let it go it’ll grow into a big poofy mane like Naby and I’ll have to condition it and if it gets humid it’ll friz anyway.”

“Honey, we live in a desert.  It’s never humid.” she assured him, “You’re not a voe and it’s never humid.”

“It gets humid in the temple when my mom uses ice spells everywhere!” Ganondorf told her shoulder, and added, “Alcohol is horrible.  Why do people drink it?”

“It was great until that Hylian got to you.  You are a strong, independent Gerudo, and his opinion means  _ nothing _ .  The drink just amplifies your emotions.  Ganny, I know you’re upset, and you know I love you right?” She pulled back to look into his face, and he nodded, “But your makeup is fucked and my hair is half-done so I really need you to suck it up and get your shit together.”

He laughed, and she laughed-

And he was caught completely off guard when she kissed him.

 

Ganondorf knelt by the chest at the foot of his bed, caressing a hairbrush.  It was ancient, and completely unusable.  The bristles would no longer bend, would break if he tried to run it through his hair.  He gently placed it back inside a keepsake box, closed it, and stared at it.

“I grew my hair out,” he told the brush in the box, “Everyone seems to like it.”

He sat it on the floor, and pulled out a book, a journal.  He had never read it, had only found it recently.  It was in terrible condition, but that Hylian voe had said he knew something about restoration.

He felt the atmosphere in the room shift as Ghirahim appeared.

“Good evening, master,” he said somberly, reading the tone, “this is normally the time you have me start preparing you for bed.  I had fresh water pumped into the baths.”

“This castle is hideous,” Ganondorf said without looking up from the chest, “I don’t know if I can cover the Hylian stench of the place.  Maybe we should knock it down and start over.”

“If you think that’s best, master,” Ghirahim agreed, “I can begin the preparations.  I’m glad that you caught it before all the construction on the conversion was completed.”

“I don’t know,” Ganondorf amended, “Maybe it’ll look better once it’s finished.”  He took a deep breath, “This place has a lot of bad memories.”

“I can understand that master,” Ghirahim agreed, “We all have things we would like to forget.  Or have forgotten.  Sometimes that can be…  just as painful.  So even if there were some way to decide to forget…  I’m not sure it’s a decision I would make.”

He waited patiently as Ganondorf kept looking at things in the chest, until curiosity overcame him.

“Master?” He asked.

“Yes, pet?”

“Could I…  eventually…  look through those things?  I could discover things.  Things you may have forgotten.  Things that may help you in your quest to find the Gerudo.”

“I…  think we may be dead, Ghirahim.” Ganondorf carefully put the book back in the chest.  

“Master, with all due respect…  I think that may be a bit premature.  Even if that were true, are we positive that all the gates of time were destroyed?”

“I,” Ganondorf faltered, “I don’t know.  But I feel like life is complicated enough without a bunch of time travel bullshit.  You can’t chase the past, Ghirahim.  Didn’t you learn that?  Didn’t you learn  _ anything _ !?”

“I’m sorry, master,” Ghirahim took a step back, “I was only trying to give you an option.”

“It’s not you, and I can’t stand your groveling,” Ganondorf snapped the chest closed and pocketed the key, “I just…  want to conquer the hero.”

“You have, master.” Ghirahim smiled.

“No, I mean…” his shoulders sagged, “I’m old, Ghirahim.  I know I’m not as old as you, but…  don’t you ever get  _ tired _ ?” he sat on the chest, “I can’t do this again.  I promised myself, I remember it now, on the bottom of the ocean as the world collapsed around me, that I would never do this again.  That would be it.  That would be the last time I died.  I had wished for water my entire life, and in some sort of…  djinn bullshit backfire, I knew as it crashed around me, with the triforce in arm’s reach, with salvation on the other side of an angry child- I knew that all I had to do was murder a child.  And I couldn’t.  I didn’t even throw a single spell.  I let him kill me.  I let a ten-year-old child commit cold blooded murder.  Do you know why?”

“No, master,” Ghirahim sat beside him and took his arm, “but I may be able to figure it out based on what I know about you.  You’re always hesitant to fight children and consider it a worst case scenario, something you’ll only do in a life-or-death situation.  So I have to assume, since that  _ was _ the case…  that at the time, you thought death may be the better option.”

“I knew I couldn’t get through to him,” Ganondorf explained, “I knew it was pointless.  I knew that I either had to kill a child, or let a child kill me.  I tried to explain it to him, everything, and he just looked at me with those big, innocent eyes and he didn’t comprehend.  The world had changed so much that he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.  How could a child who knew only ocean comprehend the desert?  There was no place for me, in that world.  Just as there is no place for me here.  My people are dead.  I have no one to live for.”

“Master?” Ghirahim drew up his legs and tugged Ganondorf’s arm to force him to look at him.  He didn’t speak until it worked, and he knew he had his attention.  “I’m sorry that you see Demise’s gift of immortality as a curse.  He was a god who did not want to die.  He lives through you.  Yet you think of yourself as mortal.  You are in pain because you want mortality.  I wish you would see yourself as the god you are.”

He squeezed his arm and gazed up at him in absolute admiration, “I know this is what you wanted, once.  But if you want it no longer, I know you can end it.  You can do anything.  You have the soul of a god, the power of a goddess, and the love of a demon.  If you want to revive your people, do it through your daughters.  They will thrive.  But master,” his tone dropped, and the air in the room chilled.  

Ganondorf recognized the pull of powerful dark magic, and watched as darkness creeped into Ghirahim’s form.

“I do not expect to be loved,” Ghirahim admitted, and Ganondorf’s eyes widened, “but I do not like it when you speak of death.  If you leave me again, I will not rest as I did before, when I knew you would be reborn and I could seek you out.  If you leave me permanently, I will scorch the earth.  My sorrow will know no bounds.  So please, Master Ganondorf, know how badly it hurts me- stabs me to my very core, when you speaks as though you have no one who wants you alive.”

Ganondorf smiled and cupped Ghirahim’s face, in one hand.

“That’s so sweet and not at all stalkery and creepy that you apparently just sat around waiting on a reincarnation instead of moving on with your life,” Ganondorf mused, “What loyalty.”

“I was made for you, master.  I know you hate to hear people beg-”

“I’ll make an exception, for you, just this once.” Ganondorf allowed.

“Please don’t leave me again, Master.  Please let me stay by your side.” Ghirahim snuggled into his palm and squeezed the back of his hand.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Ganondorf explained, “I just want this cycle to end so I can move on with my life.”

“And to do that, you need Skychild to be docile?”

“I think that if I make him understand, it may break the cycle.  I don’t think we can get rid of Hylia permanently.  I think the goddesses want us to come together.”

“HYLIA CAN GO FUCK HERSELF!” Ghirahim shrieked, seething with rage.

“Do you think Zelda knows what she is, as I do?  Does she know that we’re just reliving the same fight between two angry gods over and over?  I think she does.  And she doesn’t care.  Capturing Hylia does nothing.  It’s like talking to a brick wall.  But triangles have three sides, and it has ALWAYS been two against one.  The answer lies with the boy.” Ganondorf explained.

“We can end this, master,” Ghirahim agreed, “And then you will rule over the surface, with me by your side, and Hylia’s little servant can end her mortal life- again, and again, and again.  I would love to see that revenge for you.  Slay her with her own puppet.”

“I don’t want him to be a puppet,” Ganondorf said, “there is no reason to rule dolls.  I’m not a child anymore.  I don’t want a dollhouse.  I want him to understand and choose the side of good, to oppose the tyrant Zelda.”

“I think he’s coming to his senses, Master.  Slowly, but I think it’s happening.  He’s excited for tonight.  So am I.” Ghirahim ran his fingertips over the back of Ganondorf’s hand, “I can’t wait to see what happens.”

“Every time I brush against him, I feel it.” Ganondorf stared at his hand, “But that…  isn’t what this is about.  This is about power.  I have to break him down, shatter than Hylian arrogance so he can discover who he really is.  He’s a captured Hylian voe, and I am a Gerudo warrior.”

“Whatever you say, master,” Ghirahim giggled.  “Training him was fun.  What he lacks in skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm.  I think with more time I can get him to act like a proper gentleman.”

“Did you say you drew me a bath?” Ganondorf asked.

“Yes, master.” Ghirahim shuddered, and seemed to be putting in a lot of effort before he finally regained his original form.

“Tell Link he needs to be clean as well,” Ganondorf said, “then you can return and wash me.  I know you want to.”

“Thank you, master.” Ghirahim, in an act of boldness, reached out and took his master’s hand.  He kissed the back of it, smiled, disappeared.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In a land beyond sight  
> Where the sky shines gold not blue,  
> The Triforce's might  
> Makes mortal wishes come true." - Ancient Hylian Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betaer has been really busy with life stuff and also with my book that I'm working on, so they haven't had a chance to work on this chapter, but I thought I'd put it up anyway for the folk who have been waiting on an update. It's been so long since I last posted. So if there are more errors than usual, that's why! It's all on me!
> 
> If you like the stuff you see here, I'm 100% still looking for beta readers for my first original book.
> 
> And if you wanna throw a couple bucks my way, I've got a ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/takocos
> 
> And hey, thanks for reading this long-winded shit. Is anyone still out there?

“We never hang out.”

Link jumped away from the direction of the voice, which sent him into the bookshelf before him.  He feared some sort of comedic clusterfuck would send it crashing into the row behind it, which would send that shelf into the one behind it, and so on to infinity until the entire library was destroyed, so to prevent the catastrophe he threw down the books he was gathering for Linkle and grabbed the shelf to steady it.  A book that had apparently been placed on top of the shelf fell and smacked him right on the head, and as it crashed onto the twin bruises Ghirahim had left he saw stars.

“Are you alright?” Zant asked, and Link turned to glare at him.  He moved to pick up the books he had thrown down, but Zant was already gathering them.

“The  _ Countess and the Stablehand _ ,” Zant read, “I cannot fathom how such wealth discrepancies are allowed to exist in your culture, Link.  This poor stablehand can’t even afford a shirt, while the countess enjoys opulence.  I assume that’s her castle on the cliffside?”

Link rolled his eyes, pulled out his journal, and wrote:  _ It’s for my sister.  She’s going to be bored out of her mind, and after I leave for Lorule there will be no one here to watch out for her. _

__ “I don’t think this will provide much excitement.  Does she like these kind of books?” Zant asked as he picked up the rest and arranged them in a neat stack for Link.  They all seemed to be a similar sort, all with well-dressed noblewomen and some sort of underdressed underling.

_ Yeah,  _ Link wrote,  _ She’s weird. _

__ He had to put away the journal to take the books, and hoped that Zant would take that as his cue to go away and end the conversation.  He hadn’t wanted to give Linkle that sort of nonsense smut, but had looked for it on a whim when he realized that she would be all alone as he ventured to retrieve the master sword, so if it made her happy, let her have it.  Besides, he had gotten himself a little absorbed trying to figure out why there was so much of it in the royal library.  He thought it would be mostly scholarly things, and it was, but he had also found an entire section of pirate adventure novels and the romances he had dug through.

Curious.

He took the books to a table where he had laid out a number of stacks, all reading material he thought Linkle would like- things he prayed would keep her busy while he was away so she wouldn’t do something stupid, and was annoyed when Zant followed him.

“Have you seen Shadow Link?” Zant asked, and Link shook his head.

The fact that he hadn’t seen him had been bothering him.  Shadow was the closest thing he had to an ally in this horrible place.

“Well,” Zant said, and trailed off.

Link wondered why he was following him, and turned to lean against the table and watch him.  He crossed his arms and tried to look as annoyed as he possibly could.  Zant stared at him as if he couldn’t read his body language, so Link dug out the journal and began to write.

_ Can I help you? _

__ “I can help you,” Zant explained, and took Link’s left hand in both his own, where he ran his thumbs over the back of his glove, and a faint glow appeared, almost too soft to see.  “I’m a priest, child of Farore.”

Link wondered what new bullshit had just appeared before him and tried to gently pry his hand away from the obvious madman clutching at him.  Midna had warned him about Zant; he had been the one to kill her mother and curse her.  Link wondered where Midna was now…  had she gone back through the Gate of Time?  With Zant here, her kingdom and time would be safe.  She could take her mother’s place as queen.  She would probably be good at it.  She had an abrasive personality that he felt would lend itself well to leadership.  He could easily see how she could be intimidating.

If he had known how she actually looked, when she  _ wasn’t  _ cursed…

If someone magically reverts someone to a younger age but they still have an adult mind, is that still creepy?  Would that still make him a horrible person?

He had nearly fainted when he realized that it was normal for the Twilli to run around mostly in the nude.  Hylian women didn’t really go bare from the waist up, certainly not in battle…  but  _ Midna _ …  Gorgeous Midna with her patchwork flesh and tattoos...  

“Link?” Zant asked and Link snapped back to reality and jerked his hand away.

Gotta get these books to his little sister, whom he had judged for her impure thoughts.

He turned his back on Zant to pack the books into a bag.

“Word around the castle is that Shadow was wrong,” Zant told him, and Link had no idea what he was talking about, so he only shrugged in response.  “He told me that he thought you…  went to bed with Master Ganondorf.  After the party.  After the after-party?”

Link felt a blush spreading across his face.  If that was the word around the castle, it made sense that the servants had been avoiding him.  They probably thought he was some sort of traitor, a lover or concubine.  But he had to become accustomed to humiliation, harden himself to it, or he knew he wouldn’t survive.  He doubted the worst had hit him yet, and after all, that rumor was about to become truth, so it didn’t really matter if anyone got the timing a little off.

“But Ghirahim says that’s not the case.” Zant said, and Link’s ears twitched.  He tied up the bag and spread his journal out on the table to write.

_ Why are we talking about this? _

__ He held it up for Zant to see, and the priest smiled.

“The Great Ganondorf is twice blessed, Link.  He holds the soul of a god and the blessing of a goddess.  As High Priest of Hyrule, I would never forgive myself if I allowed you, in your current state…”  Zant seemed to frighten or embarrass himself, and couldn’t finish the sentence.

This was far closer to the way Link was used to discussing sex, and he wondered if Ghirahim were an anomaly.  Was Zant a real priest?  If he was, why didn’t Ganondorf have him perform the coronation?  Would his authority have even been recognized in Hyrule?  He had no reason to think that the Twilli didn’t know of the goddesses.  He had never expected that Midna was a godless heathen.

Maybe Zant was a priest.

_ You want to purify me? _

__ Link flipped the journal back so Zant could read it, and Zant seemed overjoyed that he understood.  He smiled and clapped his hands.

“Yes!” He was far too loud for a library, “Oh, hero, you need it!  You haven’t had a proper purification since you’ve been here.  I’ve not seen you meditate, or pray.  You’re the Child of Farore, the Chosen One!  You’ve been so lax in your duties to your patron goddess.  And yet she has not abandoned you.  Look how brightly you glow, look how her magic flows within you!”

Link’s first instinct was to get defensive, to tell him that he did pray, that he was praying right now for this conversation to end.  He was reminded of his grandmother, and her constant insistence that he come to temple, that he let go and put his fate in the goddess’ hands, that Farore created all life and she would care for it.  He didn’t want to hear it from someone else, and he didn’t want to think about his grandmother, and the resentment threatened to spill over into full-blown rage.

_ I need to take this stuff to my sister. _

__ After he was sure Zant had read it, he closed the book and stuck it in his pack.  But as he picked up the sack of books and began his trek to the dungeon, Zant  _ followed him _ .

“After that,” the priest said, “I’ll lead you to the royal family’s private shrine.”

Link rolled his eyes.

But there was something to be said for praying to his goddess.  He was going to need all the courage he could muster to make it through the next few hours.  If he could power through it and get to Lorule, he would probably be alright, but the night ahead of him…  He stopped in his tracks on the stairs and nodded at Zant.

 

_ I brought you some of those shitty books you like. _  Link signed after he had kicked the bars to get Linkle’s attention.  She had been sitting on her bed, eating the same thing that Link had eaten at the King’s table, which shocked him.  He suspected the that rumors about the new king playing favorites among his staff and prisoners were true.

“How much longer do you want me to just sit down here playing prisoner?” She huffed, “I’m bored!”

_ Then read.   _ He rolled his eyes and tossed the sack into the cell.

“I thought you were going to bust me out!” She picked up the pack, and opened it, “I can fight my way out of here.”

_ I know you can, but it’ll mess up my plan.  Look, I have to leave tonight and I want to know that you’re safe while I’m gone.  Please, please don’t get yourself killed.  I’m going to Lorule, a kingdom in the demon realm, to find the master sword.  Please don’t repeat this out loud.  It’s a secret to everybody. _

Linkle had opened her mouth to ask, “The master sword?” but closed it when Link asked her to say nothing of what he was telling her.

Instead she asked, “When will you be back?”

_ I don’t know.  Please, I’m begging you, while I’m gone, stay alive.  Stay safe.  I’m going to the shrine to pray.  You should too.  Pray, I mean.  I’m running out of time.  Night has fallen. _

__ “I will,” she promised.  She jumped to her feet and ran to him, and pulled him into a hug that choked him.  He squeezed back as best he could through the bars, and turned to Zant.

Zant gave Linkle an awkward wave and motioned for Link to follow him.

“She seems nice,” he said.

Link nodded.

“Why are you so quiet?” He asked.

Link shrugged.

“I try very hard,” Zant explained, “not to be judgemental, and not to hold grudges.  I try to look for the best in everyone, and to provide solutions to problems.  I’m normally quite good at it.  I don’t think that more complex solutions are necessarily the best.  I think that sometimes the best sort of life is not created by addition, but by subtraction.” 

Link said nothing, and Zant interpreted his silence as rapt contemplation.

“The triangle is one of the most simple shapes found in nature,” Zant continued, “But also the strongest.  Most life cycles in threes.  Life, death, rebirth.  Larva, crystalys, insect.  Seed, sprout, bloom.  Nayru, Farore, Din.  I believe, Link, that you are in your crystalys stage.  You are dormant, destined for change.  But unlike an insect, you have a great intelligence, the potential for wisdom.  This is a time where you can sculpt your destiny.”

They had come to the shrine, which seemed to be located in a private garden.  Link had never been there, but it was serene.  The pedestal of the triforce stood on an island of grass surrounded by a stream, with the statues of the goddesses at the tips of the triangles.  He let Zant lead him to the triforce of courage beside the statue of Farore, but he was confused by the way he positioned him.  

Instead of kneeling, Zant made him sit, and forced his back to the statue, which aligned his spine as if he were standing at attention.  The priest brought his hands to his chest, where Link automatically arranged them in the sacred symbol.

“ _ In a realm beyond sight _ ,” Zant chanted, and was shocked when Link spoke along with him.

“ _ In a realm beyond sight, _

_ The sky shines golden, not blue. _

_ There, the triforce’s might, _

_ Makes mortal wishes come true. _ ”

Zant sat back on his knees and spoke quietly, “You are the chosen child of the goddess.  Her power flows through you.  You need no conduit, but I am here to keep your grounded.  You need tell me nothing, for I am not the conduit through which knowledge flows.  Open your soul and speak directly to the divine.”

Link had never really known what it meant to open one’s soul.  He had heard it, in temple, but he had never understood.  Yet when Ghirahim had demanded it of him, demanded that he open his soul and let the holy magic flow out, he had obeyed instantly.  Maybe he had been right.  Maybe Link was a natural servant, who just seemed to instinctively understand anything he needed to follow an order.  Maybe he didn’t need to deny that aspect of himself to be a warrior, especially if he were serving the divine.

He tried to think of the Sacred Realm, a perfect spiritual plane where the goddesses saw fit to leave the triforce, the link to them, the symbol of their love, their power.  Someone up there was watching over him.  Farore wouldn’t give him more than he could handle, so apparently she thought highly of him.

He leaned into the statute and did exactly what he had done with Ghirahim, let all his guards down.  His muscles relaxed as the tension left his body, and the sudden vulnerability brought an ease to his mind in the safe space.  He heard Zant gasp, and cracked one eye open to see the triangle he was sitting on had lit up in the darkness.

Yet he felt no different.  He was still afraid, still apprehensive about the night in front of him.  He didn’t understand.  His body hurt- he still had the pain he had built up over the course of his capture, in his body, mind, and soul.  Nothing changed.  Perhaps his magic was flowing out, but nothing coursed into him.  He closed his eyes, leaned against the statue, and prayed that his goddess would give him a sign.  After a few minutes, he began to think that it might not be courage he needed, and prayed to Nayru for wisdom.

He felt the change in the air, felt the intoxicating demonic magic saturate the shrine, tainting it as it had tainted him, before he heard the demon’s voice.  He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Ghirahim was there, watching him.

“What are you doing?” Ghrahim asked Zant.

“The child of Ferore is conflicted,” Zant explained, “he needs to be purified.  I fear that whatever has closed his soul could contaminate the great Ganondorf.”

“I’m sure that’s a thing,” Ghirahim said as if he were uninterested, “But I need him.  Skychild, can you hear me or are you in some sort of trance?”

Link opened his eyes and looked up at him.

“Take a bath and meet me in the king’s bedchambers,” Ghirahim ordered.

Link rolled his eyes, doubly tired of his captives pretending to be parents.  He was getting sick of being told what to do.  He contemplated taking out his journal, then remembered that Ghirahim could understand him when he signed.

_ I took a bath this morning. _

“And in the time that has since passed,” Ghirahim smirked as if he took pride in what he was about to say, “I got you absolutely  _ filthy _ .  Don’t argue with me.  We’re completely out of time.  Do it now.”  He turned his attention to Zant and continued, “If you like, you could awaken Yuga and the two of you could begin gathering whatever supplies mortals need for quests- food, potions, faries, that sort of thing.”

“That’s a good idea,” Zant stood, “Ghirahim?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck, friend.  I do not envy you.  I’m sorry, but I have to say that I am glad not to be the one to deliver this news.  I feared I would be.”  He smiled, then added, “Do you think the mask shop would be open?  I hate to leave without my mask…”

“You can’t possibly be worried about that now,” Ghirahim asked, “We’ll be leaving in a few hours!  You should have had everything prepared before now!”

“I don’t know that the merchant has had time to repair it!” Zant worried.

“You’ll be fine without it,” Ghirahim assured him, “I won’t let anything mar that pretty face.”

Link stood, feeling no better than he had when he sat down, and signed to Ghirahim.

_ So should I put these clothes back on?  Maybe I should change back into my slave outfit?  Or not even bother with clothes?  I’ve never done this before. _

“Why do you keep waving your hands around?” Zant asked.

“It’s a language,” Ghirahim explained, “I’ll teach it to you, later.”

He regarded Link for a long time, then snapped his fingers and held out the Gerudo outfit.

“Good idea, Skychild.  Wear this.  It will be…  symbolic.”

Link nodded, took them, and watched Ghirahim disappear in a flutter of diamonds.  He wished he knew how to teleport- then wondered what had happened to his ocarina.

“Well,” Zant smiled, “There are certainly many who envy you, Link.  To get so intimate…  His voice became reverent when he continued, “With a god.”

Link didn’t know how to nod sarcastically, which is what he would have liked to have done, so instead he held his clothes in one hand so he could wave goodbye to excuse himself.

“Yes,” Zant waved back, though they were only standing a few feet apart and the gesture was unnecessary, “I shall see you in a few hours.”

Link nodded, and quickly took his leave before he got caught in an awkward staring contest.

 

“You two destroyed my bed,” Ganondorf complained as Ghirahim gently brushed out his hair.

“It is a flimsy trap,” Ghirahim agreed, “And honestly, master, after what I went through with Skychild, I can see why Hylians do not build sturdy furniture.  They don’t use it properly.”

“What do you mean?” Ganondorf asked.

“You may want to be gentle with him, at first.  I feel that their horrid culture has some sort of ban on pleasures of the flesh.”

“That doesn’t shock me,” the king agreed, “It’s fun and free with the added bonus of being something that the royal family can’t control.  All things that Hylians abhore.”

Ghirahim hummed in agreement.  In truth, he was only half paying attention.  Before he had been reborn, Demise hadn’t had hair in the way Ganondorf did, it was raw energy, and poured from his flesh in a way that mirrored flame.  This human body however, produced the very thing he had tried to emulate in the form he projected himself.  He was trying to resist the urge to bury himself in it.

“Probably something their priests did,” Ganondorf continued, “Who knows how they manipulated the sacred texts?  They’ve used them to justify atrocities, our banishment, war, their greed- did you know that ‘demon’ has become so associated with ‘bad’ that ‘demonize’ is a word in the Hylian language?”

Ghirahim hummed in agreement.

“Get me a glass of that wine,” Ganondorf commanded, and Ghirahim snapped his fingers to summon a bottle, and a full glass, which he passed to him.

“He wanted to wear his pleasure slave outfit for you,” Ghirahim said, trying to direct Ganondorf’s attention back in the proper direction.

“I honestly just want to get this over with,” Ganondorf grumbled, “I don’t care what he wears.  I don’t particularly want to look at him.”

“Really?” Ghirahim asked, “But that outfit Yuga and I designed…”

“It doesn’t matter how pretty the shell is that a monster wears.  Take him to the dark world and let it reflect his soul.  He’s an animal, as I am.  How many corpses can one man have, Ghirahim?  How many times…  how many places…  can one man die?” Ganondorf stared at the fire burning in fireplace and sipped his wine.  “How many times can a person be expected to die without rest?  Life, death, rebirth.  A cycle, a circle, around and around and around.”

“Please don’t be sad, master,” Ghirahim begged, and fluffed out his hair.

“Why would I be sad?” Ganondorf asked, “I have everything a person could want.”

“Master,” Ghirahim allowed himself to lean forward so he could drape his arms over his master’s shoulders, so his hands could rest over the scar on Ganondorf’s chest, so he could lay his head on his shoulder, “You have the power of a god.  If you are unhappy here…  if Hyrule is not enough, there are other lands.  Labrynna has beautiful foliage.”

“That isn’t the problem,” Ganondorf explained, slowly.  He would not allow himself to be angry with Ghirahim.  He was trying so hard to give him what he wanted, to accept the first instance of unconditional love he had been handed in so long.

“I want to help, master,” Ghirahim purred, “I am your devoted servant.  Tell me what you want, and I will make it happen.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Ganondorf jerked his eyes to the door as it opened.

Link seemed shocked to see him there.  His eyes darted from Ganondorf’s face to the vanity.  He had thought he would have a few minutes to prepare, to finalize, to steel himself.  Ghirahim had told him to meet  _ him  _ in the bedchamber, not meet  _ us  _ in the bedchamber.  He slowly pressed the door shut until he was positive he head the latch click into place, then did the same with the lock.  Then he paused, staring at the mark on the back of his hand, which was already glowing.

Ganondorf was suddenly thankful for Ghirahim’s weight on his back.  The first thing he registered, as Link slowly walked toward them, was that he no longer had a sword.  The second was the carefully crafted look on his face.  The fake smile angered him.  He had expected fear, anger, even resignation, but that mockery was too much.

“Sit down,” he ordered, and Link did.  Without being told he unclipped his pouch and laid it carefully on one of the chests at the foot of the bed, then reached down to undo the golden clasps of his sandals.  He shuddered when Gannondorf touched him, and the magic shot from the back of his knuckles, gently grazing his cheek, through his entire body.

He opened his eyes and watched in confusion as Ganondorf sat his wine on the nightstand.  Ghirahim, who was now standing beside them rather than sitting behind Ganondorf, snapped his fingers and a second glass appeared.  Link had never seen him drink anything- it had to be for him.  He leaned into the touch, into the triforce of power calling out to him, and Ganondorf chuckled.

“That mask fell so quickly,” he mused, stroking Link’s cheek.

Link nodded, and scooted closer to him.  He had been curious before, but now the robe that the king wore was only loosely tied around his waist, and the scar on his chest was exposed in its entirety.  Link ran his fingertips over it and gasped at the influx of power that he felt.

“You want to know how I got this scar?” Ganondorf asked, and Link nodded, in awe at the sensation radiating from his chest.  Gannondorf chuckled, and promised, “Another time.”

He reached out with his other hand, as if to cup Link’s face to draw him in for a kiss, but the angle was all wrong, and Link’s face twisted in confusion as the demon king took the jewel from his forehead and held it where he could see it.  Link watched as it disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last real chapter in this story! Everybody gets laid tonight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading this long-winded thing. This is the last real chapter in this story- and I say that because I will post the first chapter of my next story at the end here, to tie them together, with a link to the next part. There are far too many plot threads still dangling for this to be the end of the tale, but goddamn yhall have been here for a long ride. So if you want to read the next part of this series, everyone is invited.
> 
> As always, I accept tips here: https://ko-fi.com/takocos
> 
> And I'm still looking for beta readers for my first book. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the last chapter!

The freedom weighed heavily on him as he felt the chains unlock from his mind.  He stared in shock as Ganondorf leaned back on the bed and picked up his wine glass, as Ghirahim held out the second one for him to take.  Both of them had their eyes locked to him, watching for any change, waiting, most likely to see if he would attack.

It was Ghirahim who finally broke the silence.

“Here, Skychild,” He offered, “Your resolve needs steadying.  I’ve heard the other mortals call this ‘liquid courage’.  It should be well within your interests.”

Link took the glass, and Ghirahim moved behind him and slid into the bed.  He gently slid his hands down Link’s sides to rest at his hips, and ran his long tongue along the back of one ear.  Link shuddered at the sensation and downed the rest of his glass in a single drink as if it were a potion.  He was finally free of that mind controlling curse.  He could do anything.  As Ghirahim’s fingers dipped below the waistband of his pants, he studied the room for weapons.  

No.  It would be pointless.  There was no way to kill the Demon King without the Blade of Evil’s Bane.  He had to get her back, had to retrieve her.  The sword spirit who lived within the blade would guide him.  But he had to get back to her, and apparently Yuga was the only person who knew how to do that.  And Yuga would not help him without Ganondorf.

He didn’t know what to do with the empty glass, and stared at it, thinking about how delicate it was, how easy it would be to break, and how sharp the fragments would be.  Not sharp enough to do any real damage, but certainly sharp enough to show defiance.

No.

Make them think you’ve changed.  You have to go to Lorule.  You have to find Fi.  Make them think they can trust you.  Wear the mask.

“More?” Ganondorf asked as he poured a second glass for himself.

Link shook his head.  He couldn’t get drunk.  If he got drunk, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade- he knew that he would try to fight- and break any trust he had established.  That was why, he knew, Ganondorf had broken his own spell.  He had trusted Ghirahim to break Link in like an unruly horse, and he wanted to know if it had worked.

If he wanted to be trusted, if he wanted a chance at escape, Link had to pretend that it had.

“Master has been overcome with a nostalgic melancholy, Skychild,” Ghirahim whispered, “You vex him.  Therefore, it is your responsibility to make it up to him…  for the sake of all of us.”

Link nodded.  It wasn’t the first time in his life he had been expected to take one for the team.

“Look how he watches us,” Ghirahim slowly unclasped the bracket on Link’s wrist and let it slide off, “Let’s give him a show.”

Link took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and nodded.  Ghirahim mirrored his action with Link’s other wrist and shuddered as the holy magic emanating from the symbol on the back of his hand touched him.

“You’re glowing, little hero,” Ganondorf’s voice held amusement, and Link pried his eyes open to see why.  

Ghirahim had been right; the demon king was watching them, but not in the way Link had expected.  He thought he was being judged, watched for any sign of escape or attack.  But Ganondorf plucked the empty glass from his hand, set it on the nightstand, and leaned back against the headboard, watching with a sort of amusement- but no, not even that.  His posture was completely relaxed, he held himself like someone who was in control and knew it- but his golden eyes held a look of disinterest…  almost boredom.

The hero was insulted.

Did he really think that Link had been so thoroughly broken in a few days?  Didn’t he consider him a  _ threat _ ?  Link growled in irritation before he could stop himself.

“Skychild,” Ghirahim whispered, “I know that you’re nervous, but you will  _ not  _ mess this up for me, do you understand?  I can feel you closing yourself off.  And you will stop it.   _ Now _ .”

Right.  The plan.  Gain their trust.  Go to Lorule.  Find Fi.

He took a deep breath, and guided Ghirahim’s hands from where they had roamed on his chest back to the waistband of his pants.

“Your little voe is so eager to please, master,” Ghirahim purred.

Ganondorf chuckled in response and took another sip of his wine.

“As beautiful as this decoration is, Skychild,” Ghirahim slid his hands down the material of his pants, “I’m afraid it will be in our way.” He shoved Link from behind, forcing him forward, and without thinking he braced himself with open palms on Ganondorf’s thighs. 

He didn’t feel his clothing falling away in a slow cascade of diamonds, because he was too distracted by the magic that sprang up and shook his body from the connection.  If the demonic magic had been intoxicating, had been a drink- this was a barrel.  It felt like being pulled back from the brink of death, like a fairy who’s power tugged a soul back from the afterlife.

Ganondorf felt the connection and almost dropped his glass.

A voe.  Just a voe who needed to be broken in, to learn his place, just like all the others.  He was just a pathetic, conquered voe.  Just a tool.  Just another Hylian.  He was not the boy with the evil eyes.  

He sat his glass down, because he knew he would break it.  They no longer needed the fire- the light from the sacred symbols was glowing brighter than any torch.  It radiated more strongly than it had in a long time, this raw, godlike power, this magic that Din herself used to create the universe, that Farore used to breath life into that creation.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he, master?” Ghirahim asked, and Ganondorf jerked his eyes away from Link to notice the darkness seeping into his body.

“Can you keep it together?” Ganondorf smirked, “Or are you going to fade away?”

“This holy magic is so strong already, master,” Ghirahim shuddered, “I feel it flowing through me.  I’m sure the entire castle feels it.  It eats away at my soul in the most exquisite torture.”

Link screamed and closed his eyes when he felt Ghirahim’s fingers inside him.  The demonic magic threw off the balance and he darted forward to escape it.  He hadn’t been warned, hadn’t been prepared, and as it flowed into and around him it merged with the forces flowing inside him already, and the duality hurt with a pain that rocked him to his core.  He wanted the sensation to be bad, wanted to register it as an attack, but it was confusion that he felt as it tore at his soul, merged with and corrupted the light.  There was a satisfaction to the pain that he had no language for.  He would have to mimic Ghirahim: exquisite torture.

He hadn’t realized that he was clawing at Ganondorf’s robes until he heard them rip.

“Control yourself, Skychild!” Ghirahim warned, and the hand holding his hip tightened to jerk him away.

Ganondorf chuckled again and untied the loose knot keeping his clothes together so that he could discard them.

“Don’t scold him for his enthusiasm,” he smirked, “It’s the first real emotion we’ve seen from him.”

“But master, your-”

“Things can be replaced,” Ganondorf slid one hand around Link’s wrist and held it, guiding Link’s hand to the wound on his chest.  Link screamed again as he felt the magic pulsing there, as if it were a heartbeat.

“Do you feel that, voe?” He asked, “That is the raw, infinite power of a god, that some insolent mortals tried to snuff out!”

Link forced his eyes open to look at the scar, trying to fight through the fog of magic and understand the words Ganondorf was saying.  His tone implied that this information was important, but Link cursed him for expecting him to understand or remember it, because Ghirahim’s fingers were gone, and the loss of the connection made him angry.  He didn’t have time to shoot the look of hate over his shoulder before the demon was inside him again, fully this time, spreading him, training him, conditioning him for his master.  Link knew all of this, and splayed his free hand on Ganondorf’s thigh, bracing himself.

Ghirahim buried himself as far as he would go and stalled, so Link pushed against Ganondorf, bucked back against the demon and his magic that ate away at reality and pushed everything, his guilt, his fear, his anger, from his mind.  Ghirahim’s hiss at the sensation was dark and metallic, and Link whined when he grabbed him by the hair.

“Show our master how badly you want him,” Ghirahim commanded, and Link obeyed without thought.

He didn’t remember the fear he had once held of the Demon King- his life was dominated by a desire to keep the magic flowing, to be a vessel for it to pass through.  He ignored anything that could be called reason that tried to distract him from that simple goal, ignored all thoughts and memories, and could not recall the training that Ghirahim had given him on how to do this.

If he had remembered the fear, in particular, about the strain on his physical body, he would not have been so bold.  Ganondorf was as big as he had feared he would be, but he didn’t register it, didn’t think about it as he let Ghirahim push him down and forward.  He offered no resistance as the girth filled his throat because now it was  _ inside  _ him, and the holy magic moved through his blood, through his soul, and threatened to tear his body apart.

He thought that the lights in his vision were part of the spell, that the tingling in his fingertips was a pleasant numbness brought on by too much magic, a numbness that he wished would overcome him, that he wanted to drown in, something that would push him over the edge, perhaps even kill him, and he would welcome it.

“You have to breath, you pathetic brat!” Ghirahim reminded him, but Link didn’t believe him until he jerked his head above water, and Link sputtered the air into his lungs, cursing the loss of the pleasant world he had slipped into.

“Goddamn it, Ghirahim!” he snapped, and the demon laughed.

“Enough!” Ganondorf ordered, and Link remembered where he was.  When his eyes darted to the source of the sound, terror should have filled his body, but it didn’t, couldn’t.  There was no room for any emotion but the desire to get back that connection, and he reached for the monster’s hand, the one that glowed like his eyes and his chest.  There were no longer any eyes to gaze into, just the overpowering glow of the light- and the hero could not see himself, did not know that they matched.

“I must have him,” Ganondorf snarled, like a beast, and his free hand moved to the small of Link’s back to pull him flush with his chest.  Link felt Ghirahim slide out, but the magic did not leave him as the demon slid one arm around his chest, and gently stroked his hair with his free hand.  Link let himself fall back against his chest, and felt the sharp point of the diamond there- Ghirahim must have been waiting on the command so he could change forms.  He had been holding back.

“Good boy,” he whispered, “I’m here.  Lean on me, let me guide you, like a dance, remember?  Oh, Skychild, you’re such a lucky man…  this will be intense.  Tell Master how good it feels.”

Link had been planning to obey him, but words failed him, fell away into a scream as they settled him firmly in Ganondorf’s lap, and his girth split him in a physical manifestation of the glorious pain the magic had already torn at his soul.  He couldn’t describe the feeling, had no vocabulary for it, wasn’t sure a description existed in the limited Hylian language.

This was it.

This was the raw power of a god.

He didn’t remember where he was, didn’t remember his mission, didn’t remember his name.  All that existed was the bright light, the golden energy that flowed through him.  He no longer had a body, no longer had lifeblood, only the magic.  This was it.  This was the Sacred Realm.  This was the power of the triforce.  The power of the gods.

Ganondorf had not felt this raw manifestation since that first, horrible night.  But now there was no pain to accompany it, no sword in his chest, no emotional void from fresh sorrow.  The madness that had ripped at his soul that night- when he knew he was too much, so much more than mortal, knew that legends never die- tugged at him again.  It had already claimed the hero, who had been transported somewhere.  Ganondorf watched him bounce and knew his mind was broken.  He was holding back, but debated joining him.  It was so tempting.

But he had to be in control.  He could not give in to the urge, could not open his soul, though his chest pounded from trying to contain it.  Ghirahim had been right all along.  His problems came from pretending to be mortal.  But he wasn’t mortal, perhaps had  _ never  _ been mortal.

He was a god.

“Master,” Ghirahim begged.

“I know, pet,” the god hissed at him, and Demise’s voice brought tears to his eyes, “give in to your weakness.” 

He took one hand from Link’s hip and reached around him to rest his open palm on the crystal on Ghirahim’s chest.  The demon screamed, laughed, and jerked.  Link felt something stabbing him in the back and tried to place it, opened his eyes to the hazy image of a light behind him.  He shifted his weight to grab Ganondorf by the shoulders and give him more room for whatever he was doing.  He didn’t care what it was as long as it didn’t interrupt him, didn’t force him back to the physical plane from the realm of pleasure where he would have been content to live out the rest of his days.

Ganondorf grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled, and Ghirahim’s eyes glazed over in ecstasy.  He was too far gone to even scream.  His mortal form remained as an afterthought for an instant, but faded away into the blade in his master’s hand.  Ganondorf pinned it to the bed in a move that sent Link flat on his back into the mattress, and the Demon King hit his hands and knees so hard he felt the broken bedframe finally, in one last act of resistance, splinter in many places at once before it gave out.

They went crashing on the box springs and mattress to the floor, while the shattered bedposts sent the canopy above them collapsing in on top of them.  Link felt none of it, because he was still too far gone, and because Ganondorf batted them away as soon as they touched them.  The Hylian antique, the heirloom of the royal house of Hyrule lay in ruins around the room.

Link had hooked his legs around Ganondorf’s hips and seemed completely uninterested in the furniture.  Ganondorf had one hand pinning his wrist to the comforter and the other pinning down the sword on the other side of Link’s head, and the hero’s free hand had dug into his shoulder hard enough to bruise as he tried to pull himself up and down to the painful rhythm the demon king had set.  He had never stopped screaming.

“Yes!” Ganondorf bellowed, “Submit, you pathetic voe!  Submit to a true Gerudo warrior!  Scream!  I want the whole castle to hear you!”

Link cracked open his eyes, angry at the instance of language, of this mortal concept intruding on his personal Sacred Realm.  His eyes widened at the sight of the giant sword inches from his head, but he decided to ignore the danger, as he was ignoring everything else.  He would not be dragged back to reality.

“Shut up and fuck me!” he demanded, “If you do that again, I’ll stab you with your own sword!”

He didn’t think he had spoken these words out loud, that he could have even found the strength.  But he must have, because Ganondorf screamed above him, and the pressure left his wrist- and closed around his throat.

“Pathetic Hylian,” Ganondorf snarled, and Link was reminded of a wild animal trying to mimic human language.  But the tingling that he had felt before returned, and it was the last slice of perfection he needed to submit entirely to the pleasure coursing through him.  He escaped into it, no longer felt as one with the body that he knew tensed or thrashed or just reacted- but somewhere above and beyond.

Reality crashed hard.  

He slammed into it as if he had run face-first into a brick wall.  An actual monster, nightmare fuel, loomed over him, with glowing eyes and a lighted afterimage that did not quite follow him.  The thing held a weapon, enchanted with some sort of demon magic, and Link was at his most exposed, vulnerable, more vulnerable than he had ever been in his life.  The creature had him pinned to the bed with one large hand splayed over his chest, and Link bucked involuntarily as it went still above him.

The thing closed its eyes and growled as Link felt it go still inside of him.  The magic still flowed, but he felt numb in a different way, in a distinctly physical way.  The pieces were easy to fit together, except for…

He looked from the hand that was covering the mess he had made on his own chest back to the thing’s face.

No, not a monster.  A man, just a man, with a scar on his chest who was still inside him, basking in the glow of an orgasm.

The guilt tried to rise up, and Link pushed it down.  It had to be done.  He had to submit, without the spell, had to prove he could be trusted.  Now he could get…  what was her name?  Get that thing he wanted so he could do…  that thing he wanted to do.  The plan.  He had a plan.

He was overwhelmingly thirsty.  And beyond exhausted.  He needed a stamina potion.  He should have obeyed Ghirahim and slept.

“We broke  _ everything _ ,” Ganondorf said, and Link agreed.

“Are you alright?” Ganondorf asked his sword, and Link nodded, because he thought he was talking to him.

“I am, master,” Ghirahim’s metallic voice purred, “If you release me, I will attend to your needs.”

Ganondorf nodded, set the sword on the bed beside him, and leaned over Link to rest his weight on his elbows.  Link stared at the scar, now level with his face, and slowly wrapped his arms Ganondorf to tug him down, to feel it pressing into his cheek.

“Don’t get used to that, Hylian,” Ganondorf laughed and his chest vibrated against Link’s face, “I’m too old for this shit.”  He tried to pull away, but Link held him, so he spoke again, “Let go of me.  I have to get out.”

Link reluctantly obeyed, and when the man left he took his intoxicating magic with him.  Link sat up and took in the room.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“I know,” Ganondorf cleared some rubble and arranged the few remaining pillows against the wall, “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

The nightstand had been knocked over at some point, and Ghirahim pushed it upright.  He gave Link a brief smile, then snapped his fingers and threw a stamina potion at him.

“Ghirahim, no,” Ganondorf explained, “We’re done.  We’ll bring the entire castle down on everyone inside.”

“Master, the poor thing is exhausted,” Ghirahim pointed out, “you nearly killed him.  I felt him die.”

“He got mouthy,” Ganondorf smirked, and took the water Ghirahim offered him.

Link giggled, though he wasn’t really sure why, and stared at the back of his hand.  He pushed himself back until he could rest against the chests at the foot of the bed, and watched Ganondorf watching him.

“You look far too happy,” Ganondorf told him, and Link laughed.

He shrugged, and smiled at Ghirahim when he took the water.  He felt as if he’d been through a battle.

Ghirahim had dug a pipe out of the righted nightstand and lit it as his master inhaled.  He stood, surveyed both of them as if looking for something, then disappeared only to return a few seconds later with a bowl of hoy pears.  He climbed into what was left of the bed and began to cut one into segments with a dagger he pulled from the air.

“That was amazing, master,” he purred, and held one of the segments out to Ganondorf, who rolled his eyes and took it.

“So what now, boy?” Ganondorf asked Link, who was panting against the chest, staring at the empty potion bottle.  “Going to run?  Going to ‘stab me with my own sword’?”

Ghirahim had cut most of the pears into segments, and held one out to Link.  He stared at it, then at Ganondorf, who seemed to have asked the question as if he wanted a real response.  It wasn’t a jab, wasn’t a taunt- he was honestly considering his options.  Link dropped the empty potion bottle to free up one hand, and leaned forward to take the slice of the pear with his teeth.

He could feel the potion taking effect, but his brain was wired, while his body still longed for a deep sleep.  He didn’t understand why he found his voice easier, but he had no desire to reach for his journal.  Instead, he took another sip of his water, stood on shakey legs that threatened to give out under him, walked around the bed and shoved Ganondorf in an attempt to get him to move so he could sit with them.

It was like pushing a stone block.  Ganondorf looked up at him and exhaled a cloud of smoke at the corner of his smirk, so Link shocked him by climbing into his lap.  He took another slice straight from Ghirahim’s hand, and traced triangles in Ganondorf’s stomach while the king stared at him.  He thought he saw a faint glow, an afterimage that lingered there.

Ganondorf stared thoughtfully up at him for some time before he asked, “Do you want my spell back?”

Link narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“It could be easier,” Ganondorf explained, “Life is easier when you can pretend that your actions aren’t your own.  When you can pretend that your fate is in the hands of another, like a sorcerer or…  a god.”

Link considered that.  There was truth to it.  But if Ganondorf was willing to just hand him his freedom, he would never go back.  It was an odd thing to do, though, wasn’t it?  Why would he take away the spell that kept him safe?

“What if I told you,” Ganondorf asked as he exhaled, “That there was never any power in that crystal?  What if I told you it was never enchanted?  That such artifacts did exist, but that this is not one of them, and that you had been doing everything, up until this point, by your own free will?”

Link’s eyes widened in shock  His mouth opened and closed as he tried to process what he had just been told.  Was it true?  Was he really that susceptible to suggestion?  Was he really so easily manipulated?  Was he really, as Ghirahim had suggested, such a natural servant that he would take orders from anyone as long as they carried themselves with an air of authority?

Had Ganondorf ever ordered him to do something that he wouldn’t readily obey?  Most of his commands had been things to make him  _ less  _ violent.  Zelda had told him to kill for her, Ganondorf had told him to refrain from killing.

One of his commands had been to simply sit and listen to him while he talked about the hardships he had endured.  Ganondorf had literally commanded him to act like a friend.

“Look at his face, Ghirahim!” Ganondorf laughed, bellowing and loud as if he had just heard the funniest thing in his life, and Ghirahim giggled with him.

“No, boy,” Ganondorf snickered, “I’m just fucking with you.  I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

Link smacked his chest right on the scar.

“Hey, calm down,” Ganondorf ordered, “I was making a point.”

Link arched an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“That point was: how easy was it for you to believe that?” Ganondorf asked him, and Link would not meet his gaze.


End file.
